


Outside the Pendragon Institute

by ForzaDelDestino



Series: The Pendragon Institute [2]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Angst and Humor, Arthur can still be a prat, M/M, Quotes from the BBC series, Romance, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-16
Updated: 2016-05-14
Packaged: 2018-05-01 23:55:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 21
Words: 44,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5225993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ForzaDelDestino/pseuds/ForzaDelDestino
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sequel to "Inside the Pendragon Institute": Arthur, Assistant Director of the Pendragon Institute of Medieval and Renaissance Art, plans a summer visit to London--his hometown and home of his father, the Senior Director, Uther Pendragon. Accompanying him will be the Institute's newest and most gifted conservator, Merlin Emrys. What could possibly go wrong? AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. How John the Baptist Nearly Lost His Head

When Lance Dulac, curator of arms and armor at the Pendragon Instititute, staggered in to work on a Monday morning in April, he barely noticed that the small weeping cherry tree in the marble urn next to the entrance was in bloom. He was still in the throes of recovery from the bachelor party that had been held for him in the back room of an upscale pub, down at the South Street Seaport. The party had been on _Saturday_ , and his head was still reeling. It had been organized by Will, the objects conservator, and attended by every single one of the Institute's male employees. Lance wondered whether they were all feeling as fuzzy and wrung-out as he was, and decided that it was very likely, considering the amount of alcohol that had been consumed in the back room of that pub.

His suspicions were confirmed not ten feet inside the museum, when he missed colliding with Leon, the Head of Security, by inches. Leon looked alert, and as stalwart and fit as he ordinarily did, but the rims of his eyes were distinctly reddened with the remnants of hangover, and his eyelids were slightly droopy.

Leon chuckled at the sight of his grim-faced associate. "You should see Gaius," he said encouragingly as Lance put out a hand to steady himself. "He's dimmed the lights in the Conservation studios, and he's sitting down there holding an ice pack to his forehead."

Of course Gaius, head of the Conservation Department, was at least seventy, so this was to be expected. He was the second-oldest employee at the Institute (Geoffrey Monmouth, the librarian, was a few years ahead of him), more than a decade older than the Senior Director, Uther Pendragon. Fortunately for the sanity of everybody on staff, Uther now spent most of his time in London, making only periodic (and blessedly brief) visits to the Institute in New York City.

"See you at ten, yeah?" Leon went on, hoping that Lance would be able to stay upright until coffee break, when he could join his equally wobbly colleagues – most of them, like himself, expatriate Brits – in the staff lounge. As the Institute, like most museums in New York, was closed to the public on Mondays, their current state would go unnoticed by the outside world.

"By the way, Gwen's upstairs, and she's been grilling me about what went on at the party. She wants to know if we had a stripper."

Lance groaned, and then put one hand to his aching left temple. "Will thought about hiring one," he said in a half-whisper. "But he knew he wouldn't be able to get away with it."

Leon laughed outright. "No doubt," he replied, glancing up and down the hall to make certain none of the female employees were anywhere about. "Gwen has her spies. Well…I'll see you in an hour, then."

Lance grunted in response and headed down the hallway towards his office, where he felt certain he had a bottle of aspirin in his desk drawer.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

In his office at the other end of the hall, behind his massive desk of highly polished dark wood, Arthur Pendragon, Assistant Director, was reading the description of the Pendragon Institute as it appeared in the latest issue of the annually published Museum Directory:

_**THE PENDRAGON INSTITUTE OF MEDIEVAL AND RENAISSANCE ART** _

_Email: info_ _**at** _ _peninstitute_ _**dot** _ _org_

_Website: www_ _**dot** _ _peninsitute_ _**dot** _ _org_

_Founded: 1950_

_Collections: Medieval and Renaissance paintings, sculpture, ceramics, tapestries and other textiles, arms and armor, metalwork; literary, historical, and music manuscripts; musical instruments._

_Key personnel: Dir., Uther Pendragon Jr.; Assist. Dir., Arthur Pendragon; Dir. Finance, John H. Draca; Dir. Library and Museum Services, Geoffrey Monmouth; Senior Cur., Morgana LeFay; Cur. Arms and Armor, Lance Dulac; Head, Conservation, Gaius Caledonian; Obj. Conservator, William Percival; Textile Conservator, Gwen L. Cameliard; Assist. Conservator for Paper Conservation, Merlin Emrys_

_Governing Authority: non-profit organization, tax exempt_

_Research Fields: all fields of collections_

_Publications: quarterly bulletin; monthly calendar of events_

_Activities: guided tours, lectures, gallery talks, concerts, education programs for children, adults, and school groups…_

Arthur stopped reading and lifted his head as his office door opened and the senior curator, his stepsister Morgana, entered with her usual rapid step, announced by the staccato tap of her four-inch heels.

"You didn't knock," he muttered, rubbing his eyes. "You're getting to be almost as bad as Merlin."

He thoroughly expected a snarky response but, surprisingly, Morgana assumed an air of sympathetic concern.

"I thought I'd stop in and have a look at you," Morgana replied briskly. "To see if you're in as dreadful a state as every other man on this staff. Aren't you coming to the lounge? It's almost ten."

"Of course I am," said the Assistant Director, hunting through the papers on his desk for a pen. As he turned his head Morgana eyed his chiseled profile and erect posture, noting the absence of hangover bleariness. Arthur's blond hair was as neatly arranged as always, and when he turned to face her there was nothing in his handsome face to hint at Saturday evening's self-indulgence, except for a hint of fatigue in the blue eyes. He pushed his chair back from his desk, stood up, lithe and athletic in his well-cut jacket, and _sneezed_.

"Allergies," he said glumly, reaching for his handkerchief. "Pollen. Half the bloody trees in the park are beginning to sprout bloody flowers. Is there anything you need to tell me, or did you simply come in here to gloat over my condition?"

Morgana had never been one to mince words. "Uther's just sent me an email. He wants to talk to us via Skype tomorrow – you, me, Gaius, oh, and Merlin. He didn't say what it was about, but of course it will have to take precedence over anything else we need to do."

Arthur ignored the familiar sarcasm.

"At least he's given up the idea of you moving back to London and working from there," Morgana went on. "That never made any sense, although we both know why he wanted you to do that."

Arthur shot his stepsister a wry look but remained silent.

"I think you had better have some coffee."

The Assistant Director sneezed again. "You go ahead, Morgana, I'll need to find a box of tissues. Tell Lance not to eat all the chocolate scones."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

By the time Arthur entered the staff lounge nearly all of the regulars were there, ensconced in armchairs, sprawled on the sofas, or waiting their turn to toast bread or muffins in the toaster-oven. A coffee urn and teapot stood on one of the tables, and several male staffers, including Lance, had poured themselves stiff shots of inky-black espresso.

Gwen, Lance's fiancée and the Institute's textile conservator, sat down next to Morgana and quirked an eyebrow at the sight.

"I'd feel sorry for them," she whispered, "if it weren't for the fact that they must have had a blast getting themselves into this condition. It's amazing, though. Look at Lance," she continued, no longer whispering. "Even when he's like this he's never anything but gorgeous."

Glancing over at the blinking armor specialist, Morgana could only agree. Dark, slim but muscular, and with the sort of face teenage girls swooned over, Lance was undeniably one of the best-looking men she knew.

"Of course he's not the first gorgeous man you ever hooked up with," the Assistant Director murmured under his breath as he sat down on Gwen's other side.

Gwen shot Arthur a look of exasperated affection. He had been one of her closest friends for years, but every now and then he felt compelled to tease her about their brief university romance.

"So, gentlemen," Morgana said brightly, sweeping the room with her eyes. "Tell us all about the lovely bachelor party."

There was a collective groan, and Will sniggered. "Luckily there were cabs queueing at the curb just outside, so we were able to get everybody home intact."

"Good lord," sniffed Morgana with a touch of disdain. "Were all of you completely pickled, Will?"

"Well…his lordship could still walk," Will replied, jerking an elbow in Arthur's direction. "But the groom-to-be…I've never seen him that rat-arsed."

Morgana frowned. "I hope you don't use that sort of language when you're giving tours," she said severely.

"No fucking way," said Will demurely. "I'm as good as gold, I swear. But to answer your question, Morgana, yeah, pretty nearly everybody was wasted."

"Not Merlin," Gwen interrupted rather anxiously. "Surely not."

The eyes of every staff member present flickered in Arthur's direction, and then just as quickly turned away, before he could notice.

"Oh, I had my eye on him," Gaius said comfortably as he attempted to balance a cup and saucer on his knee. "You know how anything stronger than _ginger beer_ affects him."

"Where _is_ Merlin?" Lance asked, having suddenly noticed that the conservator in question was not present.

"Downstairs in Objects Conservation," Gaius answered. "Will's working on the gilt-bronze reliquary we're loaning to Philadelphia, and he has a tight deadline. So Merlin's helping him out by stabilizing the surface of our John the Baptist sculpture. It _is_ a mess – so much old insect damage. If we don't get him stabilized, John's head could fall off before the end of the year."

"How appropriate," murmured Gwen, smiling.

"He was at a tricky stage…I believe he's applying some B-72. So he thought he'd stay with it and skip the break."

"B-72…that sounds like a fighter jet, or a rock band," said Leon, grinning. "Or some unbelievably toxic chemical."

"It's a nice acrylic polymer, that's all," replied Gaius loftily. "Not to worry."

"I'll go downstairs and have a look before lunch," Arthur said casually. "That sculpture's given us no end of trouble. I shouldn't be surprised if its head fell off just to spite us."

Then he sneezed again.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Fifteen minutes after the ten o'clock break, the Assistant Director walked down the stairs from the ground floor to the basement, where the Objects Conservation and Paper Conservation studios were located. Adjacent to them was the Conservation Department lab, where Gaius could often be found stirring up some odd-smelling concoction or other. Today he had created a mild adhesive made from seaweed, and the vaguely salty scent had drifted into the corridor, making Arthur wrinkle his nose.

Although the youngest and most recently acquired of the four Institute conservators, Merlin Emrys was the only one (apart from Gaius) qualified to work in both paper and objects conservation. Ever since his student days, other people in the art conservation field had known about his so-called magic touch. It was to his credit, Gaius always said, that Merlin was so modest, as several museums had practically fought to get him on staff before Uther had managed to recruit him for the Institute. He was generally to be found in Paper Conservation, as this was the area for which he had been hired, but today he was stationed in the Objects Conservation studio, and when Arthur peered into the antiseptic white room he could see Merlin's pale face and black hair over the shoulder of the problematic sculpture. The rest of him was hidden by the wooden figure, and when Arthur coughed he kept his eyes on his work but raised his eyebrows with a half-smile.

As Arthur approached he finally looked up and emerged from behind John the Baptist, eyes refocusing, his hair, shorter than it had been when he first arrived at the Institute, as spiky as a child's who had just gotten out of bed, the abbreviated fringe revealing a high, elegant forehead. Still slim to the point of thinness, his face all bold bones and creamy skin, eyes blue beneath black brows, a wide, full-lipped mouth whose boyish grin nipped and jolted and did other funny things to Arthur's heart.

"It was in decent condition last year, to the eye, anyway," he murmured, dabbing at the sculpture with a fine-tipped brush. "And we've had it treated for insects, but look! Some old damage was hidden by nineteenth-century repairs." As he spoke he continued to work on the wooden sculpture, applying B-72 with a careful but rather generous hand.

"Are you certain you should use that much, _Mer_ lin?" asked Arthur, perfectly aware that the young conservator knew what he was doing, whereas he, himself (and most of his colleagues), didn't have a clue about this sort of thing.

"I might as well dunk the Baptist in a river of this stuff," Merlin muttered, staring at the insect-pocked surface of the wood.

"I wouldn't if I were you," rebuked Gaius from the other side of the room.

"It didn't look that bad when we let Santa Barbara borrow it last fall." Arthur had a fondness for the fourteenth-century statue, as its loan to the Santa Barbara Museum of Art had marked the first time he and Merlin…

Then he sneezed again.

"Watch it!" Merlin said almost sharply, motioning Arthur back. "Don't _sneeze_ on the art, for pity's sake. Your bacteria are just what this fellow needs."

Arthur stepped back, rolling his eyes histrionically.

Gaius gave a dry, paternal chuckle. "Merlin's become very proprietary about this piece," he murmured. "Won't let anybody near it until he's finished with it."

"Right," said Arthur, still rolling his eyes. "When you have a spare moment, _Mer_ lin, I need to have a word." As usual, he put a strong inflection on the first syllable of the young man's name. "With you and Gaius, that is. Morgana's had an email from Uth…from my father. He wants a conference call with her, and with Gaius, tomorrow morning."

"And with whom else?" Gaius asked, crossing the room.

"Myself and Merlin."

It was Merlin's turn to roll his eyes. "Great. Why me?"

There were, he felt, a number of reasons why Uther might be displeased with him.

When it came to skeptical expressions and raised eyebrows, there was nobody on staff who could compete with Gaius. "There's no need to take that tone, my boy," he said mildly. "Let's see what Uther wants. If I'm guessing correctly, he has his eye on a lovely, overpriced fresco, or sculpture, or tapestry, and he wants to discuss it with us before he overrides everybody's objection and spends the Institute's money to buy it."


	2. What Uther Wants

"Do you have any idea what Father has in mind to talk about?" Arthur asked Morgana quietly. He was sitting in her office, looking halfheartedly through the Museum Directory, as she hastily tidied her desk. It was nearly five o'clock, and from the look of things the senior curator had a dinner date.

Morgana shrugged as she reached for her powder compact. "Gaius is betting it's about some object coming up at auction," she murmured, dabbing powder on her nose.

"Really," drawled Arthur, watching as his beautiful stepsister swept her dark hair on top of her head and fastened it with a diamond-studded pin. "My guess is that he's heard about you and, uh, the head of our Security Department."

"Oh please, Arthur," Morgana scoffed acidly. "Why would he need to speak to Gaius and Merlin – or you, for that matter – if all he had on his mind was my transgression with someone he considers a social inferior."

"All right, all right," sighed Arthur, raising both hands in a gesture of surrender. "I was simply joking."

"I should hope so," Morgana said, somewhat mollified. "But if Uther ever should hear of, well, you know, I'll expect you to take my side in the ensuing battle. After all, I've championed your, uh, alliance with our junior conservator. And I think it's rather charming that Mordred has, as well. I've never seen that child take to anyone quite so quickly before."

Arthur gave a half-hearted laugh. His intellectually precocious little half-brother emailed Merlin on a regular basis, and had indeed expressed his approval of him to their father. Not that this would be likely to change Uther's views on the subject of any connection between his son and his son's conservator other than a professional one.

"Both Mordred and I think it's one of the nicest things that's ever happened to you," Morgana continued relentlessly. "Though how Merlin can put up with you is absolutely amazing to me."

"Morgs, _please,_ " Arthur said in a long-suffering voice. "My private life is-"

"I know, it's private and off-limits, and you don't want anybody to talk about it, as usual," came the response. "But the fact is that everybody does, and you know it."

Arthur bit his tongue and refrained from telling Morgana precisely what he was thinking of her at the moment.

"Uther's ringing us at ten in the morning," Morgana said almost plaintively as she reached for her handbag. "Skyping us, I mean. So dress nicely, Arthur, and paste a smile on your face, and after he's finished his lecture on what we should be doing to run this museum more efficiently, he'll get round to telling us what he wants."

"I always dress well," Arthur replied, getting to his feet. "I'll see you tomorrow then, in your office at ten. Tell lover boy Leon not to keep you out too late," he added with a touch of friendly maliciousness, for the sole purpose of watching her flush with something actually close to embarrassment.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Merlin was waiting for him on the front steps at ten minutes past five. The fading rays of spring sunlight had turned the stone balustrade against which he was leaning to gold, and Merlin's head was tipped back, his eyes closed, to capture the last of the warmth. There was a little color in his thin cheeks, and Arthur resisted the urge to touch that narrow, angular, oddly beautiful face.

Instead, he said "Ahem," and tapped him lightly on the upper arm.

Merlin's eyes popped open and he grinned sheepishly.

"I was daydreaming," he murmured, straightening up and rubbing his temples with both fists. "Are you starving? Or just normally hungry?"

"Starving," replied Arthur, shifting his briefcase from one hand to the other. "Famished. And what were you daydreaming about?"

"Actually, I was thinking about that wretched sculpture," Merlin said, frowning. "I'm trying to figure out how to reinforce its neck."

Arthur bit back a smile, because it was difficult to think about the John the Baptist sculpture without remembering the first time he _had_ touched Merlin intimately. That had been after the opening night party of an exhibition to which the statue had been loaned. He and Merlin had gone back to their Santa Barbara hotel and, after a minimum amount of negotiation disguised as verbal fencing, had quite simply fallen into bed together.

Well, they had fallen into bed together many times since, and it didn't seem likely that they would ever get tired of doing so. This habit had been made much easier by the fact that, at one point during the winter, Merlin had finally moved into Arthur's flat. He had been spending a fair amount of time there anyway, but had not expected Arthur to suggest that they live together so soon. The Assistant Director had been surprisingly adamant, and their conversation on the subject had occasioned some of Arthur's most prattish behavior, and one of their most memorable arguments.

"You're always saying that you like your privacy," Merlin had said emphatically. "You'd hate me for being in your way."

"You're talking rubbish, as usual."

"People would talk, of course."

"They're talking anyway, you id-"

"Don't you _need_ your personal space and a break from Institute personnel?" Merlin had said hastily.

"Personal space be damned!" Arthur had retorted. "You know what I need."

"Erm," said Merlin, doubtfully. "So you're only thinking about sex?"

"No, you bloody idiot!" Arthur growled, grabbing him by the front of his shirt and yanking him in.

"So you _are_ just thinking about sex, then," Merlin had stammered half-jokingly after several minutes.

"No I'm not, you blinkered imbecile!" snapped Arthur, forgetting to even try to sound lover-like. "I want _you_ , the sex _and_ everything else that comes with you, including your clumsiness, and your annoying retorts, and your insubordinate manner, and your incomprehensible accent, and your…your…bloody vegetarianism! Everything, do you understand?"

(He realized later that this must have been the most arrogant and obnoxious declaration of love anyone had ever made.)

"For pity's sake, Arthur," Merlin had said mildly. "You're _shouting_."

" _Mer_ lin," Arthur muttered sharply, but the expression on his face had been that of a child about to be bereft of his favorite something-or-other. "Does that mean yes?"

"Yes," was Merlin's barely audible reply. "God, you're a possessive prat," he had added in a normal tone of voice, flattening his palms against Arthur's chest.

Remembering this exchange of less than two months ago, Arthur smiled rather broadly but when Merlin asked him what was so amusing, he said that he had been thinking of cutting back the spending limit on Morgana's business charge accounts.

They walked to Arthur's flat along streets lined with trees that were beginning to blossom, and Arthur sneezed several times. Merlin offered him a packet of tissues.

"I thig I deed to see an allergist," the Assistant Director complained, as they crossed the lobby. "I cad breathe."

"It'll be better upstairs," Merlin said sympathetically. "The new air purifier's been running all day."

It was indeed better in the flat, and after Arthur dropped his briefcase in the hall they made their way to the kitchen, where they poured huge tumblers of ice water and sat down to unwind. Merlin pulled a vegetable casserole out of the fridge and Arthur (who avoided having anything to do with cooking if he could help it) deigned to cover it and shove it into the oven, because Merlin wasn't certain it would do well in the microwave.

As Merlin unearthed the makings of a salad, Arthur (who was supposed to be concocting the dressing) wandered into the study, where he checked his computer for emails. His stomach somersaulted unpleasantly when he noticed an email from Uther at the very top of the list. Sighing with trepidation, he opened it, gesturing for Merlin to read it over his shoulder.

_Dear Arthur, I will be speaking with you and some of your staff tomorrow, but I wanted to inform you that I've been making arrangements for your visit in June. As you know, I'm having some renovation work done on the Belgravia house, so we will be living elsewhere, temporarily. I shall let you know when everything has been finalized. As you are bringing Merlin Emrys with you, I may arrange to introduce him to some London conservators. There will be excellent collections on display at the museums here this summer, and I recommend that you see them during your stay. Incidentally, do you remember the London collector with the tapestries, Cornelius Sigan? He is one of the matters I wish to discuss with you and your colleagues tomorrow. Affectionately, U._

"Oh hell," muttered Arthur, the corners of his mouth turning down. "What is he on about? He knows perfectly well I have no idea of what he's been doing with the house. Cornelius Sigan? I remember him, although quite frankly I'd prefer not to. Well, at least he's quite come to terms with my bringing _you_."

"At least on the surface," Merlin muttered, raising his eyes to the ceiling. He had to tread carefully when it came to the dictatorial Senior Director, because although Arthur found his father frustrating, and although Merlin knew how much Uther set both Arthur and Morgana's teeth on edge, he was also aware that Arthur had spent most of his life (consciously or subconsciously) trying to win his father's approval.

"Cornelius Sigan? Why talk to us about him. He's an odd bloke...definitely something dodgy about him. And…Merlin? What is it?"

"Nothing," said Merlin. But he was clearly thinking about something because his face wore that serious, withdrawn expression that Arthur found so fucking…that is, so intensely irresistible.

He reached out and caught Merlin lightly about the waist, his hands sliding up under the disreputable tee shirt to touch the smooth skin of Merlin's back. Merlin gave a little gulp and leaned in to him, raising his face so that their mouths could connect in one of their gut-wrenchingly satisfying kisses.

Neither had been able to figure out whether the mind blowing quality of their kisses was due to the unique chemistry between them, or to some sort of innate kissing ability (Arthur occasionally bragged about his), but it never seemed to go stale or become any less exciting than it had been from the first. As well, Arthur never ceased to marvel at how perfectly they fit together. They were more or less the same height; Merlin was a scant half-inch taller, a difference that was not really noticeable when they stood side by side. And he was so much slighter than the athletic, blond Assistant Director that he gave the impression of being smaller.

" _M_ _ine_ ," Arthur whispered urgently against Merlin's charmingly prominent right ear, pulling him closer.

"Yours," replied Merlin in a muffled voice. "After dinner, anyway. I thought you said you were starving."

"Right," said Arthur, releasing his conservator and trying to ignore his racing pulse as he walked back to the kitchen and hunted in a drawer for forks and spoons. "Switch off the computer, would you, Merlin," he called over the sound of rattling cuttlery. "Dinner first. Then we…oh, bugger!"

"There's no need to get graphic," Merlin said reproachfully.

"No, you idiot," came Arthur's voice at its most irritated. "it's the casserole…I forgot to turn off the oven. It's burnt to a bloody crisp!"

* * *

 

**Cornelius Sigan (played by Mackenzie Crook) was a principle character in the first episode of _Merlin_ , Series 2, "The Curse of Cornelius Sigan."**


	3. How Morgana Nearly Put Her Foot in It

"Merlin," said Arthur thoughtfully, wrinkling his brow.

There was no reply.

" _Mer_ lin," said Arthur sternly, and he felt his young conservator move slightly, lifting his head. He had been nearly asleep, sprawled on top of Arthur, and Arthur's left arm had gone quite numb as a result.

"Sorry to wake you," Arthur murmured, actually managing to sound apologetic as he reached out with his working arm to switch on the bedside light. "Just a little reminder. My father's Skyping us tomorrow, so you might want to wear something other than one of your dreadful tee shirts to work. Not that he's likely to sack you because of the way you dress…still, you may as well look presentable. I know I could have said all of this in the morning, but this gives you a bit of advance notice. I didn't want to wait until the alarm goes off and then watch you flailing about madly in the closet, trying to choose something appropriate."

"Besides," he added, "You know how he feels about the impression we make on the public. We're meant to appear eminently professional. If he sees you looking like you just crawled out of an American university frat party, he'll think I can't control my own staff."

Merlin snorted. "You woke me up for _that_?"

He then gave Arthur one of _those_ looks that made Arthur want to run his hands down the whole milky-pale length of him.

"The public doesn't see me," Merlin continued drowsily. "I'm always in one of the Conservation studios. I don't have to woo the public or the press, the way you have to do on occasion."

" _Mer_ lin," said Arthur.

"Gaius doesn't exactly wear a suit everyday. In fact, he almost never does."

" _Mer_ _lin_."

"But I'll dress properly tomorrow, to make He Who Must Not Be Named happy."

Arthur grunted and rolled his eyes. "I know he can be...difficult. To say the least. But he's always under pressure, and he's been out of sorts lately."

"Erm, I wonder _why_ ," said Merlin with just a touch of sarcasm. "The poor man, it makes me weep just thinking about it."

"Spare me, please," Arthur responded with mock distress. "No man is worth your tears. Least of all my father."

Merlin decided not to touch that one.

"You actually look...rather nice, _Mer_ lin, when you're neatly dressed."

Merlin's fingers moved in the golden hair on Arthur's chest. "What was it You-Know-Who was going to talk to us about?"

"Among other things, a collector in London," replied Arthur, yawning. "You don't know him, I expect. _I_ haven't seen him in years, thank God. Is that your stomach making those odd noises, or is it mine?"

"Probably mine," Merlin said against Arthur's collarbone. "It's full of burnt casserole. But then, so is yours, so I can't quite tell."

"That wasn't entirely my fault," Arthur muttered. "You distracted me."

"It's not _my_ fault if you can't control your lower instincts," came the response, accompanied by a deliberately angelic smile.

Arthur retaliated by rolling over neatly so that their positions were reversed, and Merlin was pinned underneath him.

"Got you now," he said, staring down into the limpid blue eyes of his conservator. "I can give free rein to my lower instincts, at leisure, and there isn't much you can do about it."

"You're insatiable," Merlin announced with a critical frown, but he made no move to get away.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"We have to go without ten o'clock break, so that Uther can tell us how we need to do better, and we must improve this, that, and the other thing, and then he'll ask us why we object to raising the entrance fee to the museum," Morgana said crossly as she watched her stepbrother, Gaius, and Merlin file silently into her office. "And remind me why it is we're doing this in _my_ office instead of Arthur's?"

"Because you said so yesterday, and because your computer has the better monitor," the Assistant Director replied, sitting down on the sofa next to Gaius with Merlin safely on Gaius' other side. He was clad in a pale aqua Brooks Brothers shirt, with a darker blue tie, held in place by a narrow gold clip. Gaius had abandoned his customary oversized cardigan (a shapeless garment reminiscent of a wooly sheepdog) in favor of a neatly pressed jacket, and Merlin wore a cream-colored shirt, unbuttoned at the collar, rather than his usual plain Gap tee or striped rugby polo.

Morgana's lips tightened. "I can see you've all dressed for the occasion," she uttered in tones of doom as she seated herself next to Arthur. She herself was decked out in a blue-green dress of silk jersey. "It's so silly; I mean, he isn't even _here_."

"Yes, but he can still see us, thanks to the miracle of modern computer technology," said Gaius drily, eyeing the monitor with distaste. He himself only resorted to computers when it was absolutely necessary, although he conceded that they were useful for keeping up with recent research in the field, and for staying in touch with colleagues and friends.

As it happened, they were all grateful for their collective nattiness when Uther's face appeared on the computer screen. The Senior Director was impeccably dressed as always, his clothing elegant, understated, and unquestionably expensive. As he scanned the faces of his New York staff, his son could detect storm clouds gathering on Morgana's brow, and he could see Merlin fidgeting at the other end of the sofa.

"Good morning…that is, it's morning where you are," said the Senior Director in the deceptively jovial voice he often used when addressing employees and associates. "Well, Gaius! Good morning, Arthur, Morgana." He was silent for a moment and then his eyes slid sideways.

"Ah, Merlin," he added in a neutral tone of voice, and Arthur could almost feel Merlin wince.

"There are several things I wanted to discuss," Uther intoned, and for the next ten minutes they listened politely as he wondered aloud whether they couldn't have two special exhibitions in the fall and winter instead of one, and why it was that the public wasn't spending more money in the Gift Shop. From this he proceeded to suggest that their scruples about raising the museum's admission fee were sheer nonsense, and why in heaven's name couldn't they charge as much as the Museum of Modern Art?

"MOMA is a larger museum," said Arthur calmly. "With a collection that's, well, a bit more extensive than ours, and a bit more popular with the general public. There have been plenty of complaints about their high admission fee. Fortunately for most people, they're free on Friday evenings."

"And you're not forgetting that we're still in an economic recession of sorts?" Morgana added sweetly, between clenched teeth. "Things may be improving, but people can't afford to pay a fortune to look at art."

"Ah yes, well," replied Uther, dismissing the public's economic woes with a wave of one hand. "Well, let's at least consider it, shall we? For the present, the fee remains the same."

There was a carefully suppressed sigh of relief, as Arthur and Morgana began to relax, and Merlin wondered why on earth he had been asked to participate in this meeting at all.

"It's time we had a new guidebook to the museum," Uther went on, smiling what Merlin called – although only to himself – his crocodile smile. "Arthur, I know you're too busy to deal with it. I'd like you, Morgana, and you, Gaius, to put together the text and photographs. We can publish it next year."

Gaius could be heard clucking under his breath, but he put up no objection.

"Now, to move on to something more interesting," continued the Senior Director, fiddling with a sheaf of what appeared to be photographs. "Perhaps you remember Cornelius Sigan?"

"Yes," said Arthur shortly, and Gaius mumbled some form of assent. Morgana said nothing, but she nodded. Only Merlin was clueless, but he did his best to look curious about whatever Uther was about to tell them.

"His collection of medieval and Renaissance tapestries and textiles has grown," Uther said, still hunting among the photographs. "It is exceptional. One of the best. He has some masterpieces, isn't that so, Gaius? You've known him for as long as I have."

"He has a good eye," Gaius murmured with what sounded, to Merlin, like reluctance. "And he has acquired some fine pieces, certainly. What does this have to do with us?"

"I've been trying for years to get him to promise at least part of his collection to the Institute," Uther said bluntly. "Lavish dinners. Invitations to special events. We must have invited him for tea countless times, Elaine and I."

Elaine was Morgana and Mordred's mother, Arthur's stepmother. Merlin had seen photographs of her…a charming, doe-eyed blonde who looked considerably younger than her years. He knew that Arthur was fond of her, although both he and Morgana agreed that she was a bit of an intellectual lightweight, and very much a social butterfly. ("How she managed to produce offspring as sharply intelligent as Mordred and, uh, Morgana, I have not an inkling," Arthur had once said to Merlin in private.) It was apparent that Morgana had gotten her keen intellect and her dark-haired, pale-skinned good looks from her deceased father, Gorlois, and Merlin guessed that Mordred's brains might have come from Uther's side of the family.

"There's one tapestry in particular that's especially fine," Uther went on. "It hasn't been published, at least not in the past fifty years, so few people know about it. I'll email you some photographs. Sigan's been hinting that he might gift it to us within the next year. I mention this because of your impending, uh, visit, Arthur."

Arthur raised his eyebrows.

"He said he'd be pleased to show it to you, and hear what you have to say about it. As you'll be in town, that is. He said that as you're more or less the Acting Director in New York, you might give him your opinion on how it would fit into our collection."

"Oh," said the Assistant Director, sounding anything _but_ pleased. "Certainly, Father."

"I was thinking of coming to London for a long weekend, whilst Arthur's there," Morgana said suddenly, taking them all by surprise. "It's been quite a while. I could use a mini-vacation. And it's been at least a couple of years since Leon-"

Realizing what she had just said, she nearly clapped her hand over her mouth, and turned visibly red. Uther gave his stepdaughter a sharp look, and Merlin attempted to draw attention away from her by dropping his clipboard with a loud clatter. Uther grimaced, and turned his disapproving glare in Merlin's direction.

"That's alright then," Arthur said loudly, as Morgana nudged him in the ribs. "I'd be glad if you stopped in whilst I'm in London. Anyway, Father, if Sigan wants to see me to discuss the tapestry, I can certainly oblige him."

"Good," Uther boomed, turning back to his son and smiling again. "I think you'll be impressed by the piece. Now, I have an appointment in half an hour, so if you'll excuse me, I'll sign off now. I'll have the photos emailed to you later today. Arthur, my regards to the rest of the staff."

As Uther's image blinked off, everybody breathed a very audible sigh of relief. Morgana, whose face was still flushed, put her hands to her cheeks but said nothing. Merlin gave her a sympathetic smile, and watched as she took a deep breath and tried to compose herself.

"Well that's that," Arthur said briskly, standing up. He had been paying strict attention to Uther's various statements, and had not once looked in the junior conservator's direction. Now, however, his glance strayed to Merlin's throat, where his shirt was open at the collar, and Morgana smirked a little, whereas Gaius pretended not to notice.

"Why did Uther want me to sit in on this?" Merlin asked, clearly at a loss; Uther had not addressed a single comment to him. "Wouldn't it have made more sense to have Gwen? She's the textile conservator."

Arthur cleared his throat. "I suppose it's because you'll be, um, coming to London with me," he replied. "Perhaps Father wants you to have a look at the tapestry…seeing as you'll be there."

(At first, both Arthur and Merlin had avoided mentioning to the rest of the staff that Merlin would be accompanying the Assistant Director during his brief summer visit to London. It had soon become clear, however, that everybody on staff knew all about it. Morgana was the one person who had been informed from the beginning but she swore she hadn't told a soul, which suggested that the Institute's gossip mill must have been working overtime.)

"I'm completely in the dark about this Sigan fellow," Merlin said in a near whisper as he, Arthur, and Gaius headed for the door. "But I can tell you don't like him much. What's the reason?"

"Later, Merlin," Arthur replied, very quietly, as they stepped into the hallway. Then he raised his voice. "Well, Gaius, that's a relief about the entrance fee. I'm pleased that Father gave in on that matter. And I'm happy he wants you to co-author the next guidebook."

"It's always nice to be given extra work," Gaius replied drily. "Morgana and I should be able to handle it. I'm surprised, though, that Uther didn't want someone with a fresh, new take on the Institute to write the text. Don't you think Merlin would do a nice job?"

"God, no," said Arthur, and although he did not roll his eyes, he might as well have, from the tone of his voice.

Merlin shot him a look, and Arthur gave an evil grin.

"He hasn't been here long enough," he added, ignoring Merlin's narrowed eyes. "You and Morgana know this collection backwards and forwards, inside and out."

"Well," said Gaius amiably, shrugging off his jacket. "After that little conference I think we all deserve a drink after hours. Perhaps we could repair to The Griffin after five? I have the feeling Morgana will be happy to join us, don't you


	4. Who's Who

Perhaps because it was a Friday evening, The Griffin was crowded when the group from the Pendragon Institute made its way into the handsome interior, shortly after five thirty. As the upscale pub was a popular watering hole with the neighborhood's museum personnel, it was not uncommon to find curators, technicians, or shop employees from institutions like the Metropolitan Museum or the Guggenheim seated at the polished wooden bar or tucked into the booths that lined the walls. The Institute staffers settled themselves at a group of free-standing tables and ordered their drinks. Several people recognized them, and waved. Two or three of the female patrons smiled and raised their glasses in Arthur's direction.

This sort of thing happened on a regular basis, in places like The Griffin and elsewhere. In addition to being burdened with his reputation as a sex god among museum directors – at least this _had_ been his reputation before the appearance of Merlin Emrys - Arthur Pendragon was generally well liked and admired, and was viewed as the consummate professional. He was never late for an appointment. He ran his museum like a ship of the line from the old British navy. He was friendly and accessible to his employees, but remained remote enough that none of them would have dared to take advantage of him in any way (except Morgana). If he occasionally bullied his staff it was in a good-natured way, and nobody saw fit to object to it (except Merlin). He was courteous to the outside world, clever, a good scholar, respected by his peers. Furthermore, his good looks were legendary, and his sexual conquests among museum professionals of other institutions ( _never_ of his own, until Merlin) had been numerous, both female and male, and not one of them could complain that he had treated them badly. When word spread around the museum community that he had taken up with one of his young employees, there had been shock and a lot of gossip. Fortunately this had died down; people had accepted his attachment to his junior conservator as fact, and moved on to some other local scandal or other.

The Assistant Director had managed to keep his relationship a secret from the world outside the Pendragon Institute for less than three months, until the so-called "Valiant Incident" at the Metropolitan Museum. After that, everything had come out in the open, and Arthur had done nothing to deny it. At work he maintained his professional stance towards Merlin, treating him much as he did the rest of the staff. They did not touch, or make any direct references to their connection whilst on the grounds of the Institute. This bolstered Arthur's standing as a responsible head of staff, and also made it easier for Uther to ignore a situation that could hardly have made him happy.

Gwen and Lance had no scruples at all about behaving in an affectionate manner in front of their colleagues, although they kept this to a minimum at work. In places like The Griffin they were quite happy to sit close together in one of the booths or at a table, playing occasional footsie or cheerfully linking hands. On this particular evening, Lance had his arm around Gwen's waist, and Will was scowling at them and begging them not to start snogging in public. Gaius, Leon, and the Assistant Director were leaning against the bar, arguing about the most recent World Cup match, whilst Morgana and Merlin watched them from separate small tables across the room.

"As Will's hosted a bachelor party for Lance," Morgana said to Gwen in a loud stage whisper, "I think it's only fair that I host your bridal shower."

"Oh, lovely!" cried Gwen ecstatically. "And no, Lance, we wouldn't dream of hiring male strippers."

Lance snorted derisively.

"How was your little talk with Uther?" Gwen asked Morgana solicitously, and the senior curator groaned.

"Impossible man!" she rapped out in a low voice. "But it wasn't as bad as it could have been."

"Does he know we're getting married?" interrupted Lance. "I'm hoping he'll give us a raise in salary as a wedding present."

"Ha ha," Gwen intoned. "Keep dreaming."

"Or a bonus at the very least."

"He mentioned a possible gift to the Institute, from Cornelius Sigan." Morgana went on. "That was something of a surprise."

"Oh," said Gwen, surprised. "He must mean one of his tapestries. I can't believe it! He's such an odd duck. Merlin! Can you imagine?"

"I don't know anything about the man," Merlin said, almost impatiently, and minutes later, when Arthur returned to their table and sat down facing him, Merlin turned a level stare in his direction and murmured, " _Now_ are you going to tell me about this Sigan fellow? Is he one of your father's mates?"

"Not exactly," replied Arthur, grimacing. "Not one of his mates, no, but they know each other. Sigan's quite a bit younger. He founded Raven Air - you know, the airline - about ten years ago, and it's made him very rich."

"Raven Air...oh, of course. The one with the huge blackbird stenciled on its airplanes."

"He's got a gloomy Victorian pile of a mansion and some flashy trophy wife who used to be a lingerie model."

"And he collects art? He owns, erm, tapestries?"

"He has a wide-ranging collection, actually," Arthur mused. "Everything from African sculpture and Cambodian stone buddhas to medieval French and Flemish tapestries. Some truly excellent, most of them well-published."

"Why is it you don't like him?"

"Going in for mind-reading now, are you?" Arthur asked drily.

"I can tell you don't like him...you're not always difficult to read," said Merlin, stubbornly, and Arthur sighed.

"I can't say I know him well, in fact I definitely don't," he murmured, lowering his voice so that the others could not hear. "When I was fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, Father took me with him to auctions at Sotheby's and Christies, and every now and then we saw Sigan there. He always spoke to us with courtesy, but I didn't like the...the way he looked at me. There was, as the Yanks say, something sketchy about it. Creepy. As though he was a little boy on Christmas eve, and I was the sugarplum in his stocking that he wanted to get his hands on."

"Oh," said Merlin. "Ugh. You mean he fancied you."

"I don't know, exactly," Arthur replied, shrugging. "He never tried to chat me up, never tried to have anything on, but of course I was underage."

"So you're worried about what he might do now?"

"Not _worried_ ," said Arthur, rather dismissively. "I mean, he's a bit scrawny, like you, so...I could thrash him if I were blindfolded. And it isn't likely that he's still...that is, I don't even know that he wanted..."

"Who wouldn't want you?" Merlin said simply, without thinking, and then blushed to the roots of his hair.

"Hmm, yes, you _have_ got a point there," Arthur answered loftily, but Merlin could see that he had blushed also.

"Prat," he mumbled, and the Assistant Director gave him a look. It would probably be a very warm night.

Their table shook as Morgana dropped her heavy handbag on top of it, and then Morgana herself dropped into a chair next to Arthur.

"Whatever are you two talking about?" she asked, and then, without preamble, "you're both as red as beets."

"If they gave awards for an absence of tact," the Assistant Director said stonily, "you would win every year, hands down. As it happens, I was telling Merlin about Cornelius Sigan."

"I knew nothing whatsoever about him," Merlin added equitably.

"Odd fellow," Morgana said, raising one eyebrow. "I met his wife once, at a dinner. Gorgeous creature, but scarcely a brain in her head. So, have you scheduled your flights yet?"

"No," Arthur replied, staring into his Guinness. "We'll be spending a few days in…in Ealdor, before our week in London. Just don't say anything about that to Father, Morgana, or I will be obligated to slice and dice your credit cards into little bits and flush them down the toilet."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

A little less than two hours later, Arthur was pacing the length of his study, a street map of the London area in one hand and a larger, wider-ranging road map in the other. Merlin had peered into the study earlier, and seeing the grim look on his Assistant Director's face, had wisely retreated.

Arthur finally deposited both maps on his desk, and pulled a heavy scrapbook that had once belonged to Uther out of his bookshelf. He carried it to the living room, where he placed it on the coffee table with a thump, waking Merlin, who had drowsed off on the sofa.

"I've something to show you, Sleeping Beauty," he announced. "So get up and pay attention."

He began flipping through the scrapbook, sneezing loudly as dust rose from the pages. Merlin chuckled and handed him a handkerchief.

"Here you are, Goldilocks," he murmured. "Now, what is it you're showing me?"

" _Don't_ call me Goldilocks," snapped Arthur. "Look…here's a photo of Cornelius Sigan. Of course you could find something more up-to-date online."

Merlin restrained himself from asking Arthur whether he would prefer to be called one of The Three Bears, and turned his eyes to the newspaper article pasted to the page. It was topped by a slightly yellowing photograph of a somewhat younger Uther, standing between a smiling, thin, and hollow-eyed man, and a third gentleman, distinguished and dark haired with wire-framed eyeglasses.

The caption beneath the image read: "British collectors Uther Pendragon and Cornelius Sigan lend masterpieces to the Metropolitan Museum in New York."

"That's the former director of the Met," said Arthur, pointing to the dark haired, bespectacled figure. "And there's Sigan," he added, his finger below the grainy image of the hollow-eyed collector. Sigan was obviously younger than either Uther or the Metropolitan's former director; he was gaunt-faced, with a blondish Van Dyke beard and moustache, and a broad grin that could be read as either open and friendly or sinister.

"Really?" said Merlin, yawning and rubbing his eyes. "Does he always look totally gormless?"

"He's not gormless, you twit," grumbled Arthur, shutting Uther's scrapbook and pushing his fair hair back from his brow with an exasperated look. "He's a sly fox. Art dealers either love him or hate him. Last year he bought a rare sixteenth-century tapestry of heroes from the Trojan War, and let the Boston Museum borrow it. Perhaps you saw a photo of it in their bulletin."

Merlin recalled the photograph of the tapestry quite clearly. A magnificent piece, depicting the mythical warriors Achilles, Hector, Paris, and Agamemnon (all clad in late medieval armor) against a background of flowering plants. He smiled at the memory and saw Arthur's eyes go to the unbuttoned collar of his shirt for the second or third time that day.

"Stop yawning, _Mer_ lin," commanded Arthur as his young conservator stood up and stretched. "And honestly…you needn't look at me as though I was about to tear your clothes off and ravish you."

"Well, aren't you?" Merlin replied matter-of-factly as he picked up the scrapbook and flipped through the pages.

"No," said Arthur firmly. "Or don't you believe me?"

"No," Merlin answered, putting the scrapbook down. "You can say what you please, but you know you're going to do it anyway."

Arthur folded his arms and glared.

"I could ravish _you_ , if you'd prefer," Merlin went on helpfully, but three seconds later Arthur had him against the wall and was attacking his neck, one hand in Merlin's unruly dark hair, the other pulling his shirt open so that buttons dropped to the floor, rolling in all directions.

"Hey," Merlin protested feebly. "That's my best shirt!"

" _Mer_ lin," Arthur said in his most dangerous voice.

"What did I tell you," Merlin began philosophically, before Arthur effectively shut him up.


	5. Much Ado About Cornelius Sigan

"I wouldn't worry too much about that sculpture, Merlin," Gaius said reassuringly. "It's been around for nearly seven hundred years; I think it's actually much tougher than we are."

"Mmmm," replied the junior conservator, staring hard at the surface of the fourteenth-century John the Baptist, which was marred with numerous tiny holes, evidence of old insect activity. "I suppose you're right. You know," he added with a mischievous grin, "we could tell the public that the model for the statue had a bad case of the pox."

"That," muttered Gaius at his driest, "isn't even funny. But you've stabilized the piece quite nicely. You're living up to your growing reputation as Merlin of the Magic Fingers."

"For pity's sake," Merlin said with a pained expression. "That sounds like a character from The Lord of the Rings. Or worse, a porn star. As for my reputation, I suppose any decent, trained conservator could do what I do."

"No, my boy," Gaius sighed testily. "That's not the case and you know it. I don't want you to become conceited, but as I've said before, your talent and your eye are exceptional, and your handling of materials is instinctive and spot on. Not that you haven't made the occasional error in judgment, you understand, but nothing that impacted badly on the art. You're barely out of school and you're far better than most senior conservators who've been employed for decades. I should know, I've been at this sort of work forever."

"Thanks," murmured the junior conservator, ignoring the crankiness in Gaius' voice. If the Head of Conservation was grumpy the morning after a night of drinking at The Griffin, everybody felt he was entitled to a great deal of slack. He was, after all, one of the oldest members of the Institute's "Motley Crew of Expat Brits" (as Morgana had dubbed the museum's staff, long ago), and, for Merlin, was the closest thing to a father figure that he could think of.

"I believe we've done enough to Johnny for the present," Gaius continued. "You can go back to the Paper Conservation studio with a clear conscience, Merlin. Will's almost finished with that bronze thingy he's been cleaning, and he's more than capable of dealing with the other sculpture that's been giving us trouble."

He gestured in the direction of a colorfully painted wooden figure of a bearded man, dressed like a noble, that stood in the corner of the Objects Conservation studio. Nobody could figure out who it was supposed to be. (Gaius thought it might be one of the Three Wise Men, and Will guessed that it was meant to represent King Herod.) Some of the red pigment on the figure's hose had cracked and bubbled on the surface, giving it the appearance of peculiar, unattractive growths. Merlin had dubbed the statue Lord Moldywart.

"Are you coming upstairs for ten o'clock break?" he asked Gaius, and bit his lip when he saw the senior conservator's eyes go to the red scarf he had slung around his neck that morning.

"Hmmmm," said Gaius, his eyebrows working overtime. "Yes. I think I could do with a spot of caffeine. And perhaps you could as well, for a different reason."

That was as close as Gaius had ever come to referring to Merlin's personal life. Merlin felt his cheeks grow hot, and he fiddled unconsciously with his neck scarf. He had had no choice but to wear it; Arthur's enthusiasm of the previous night had left more than one mark on the skin of his throat.

"Shall we go?" asked Gaius, the crossness in his voice beginning to fade. "Everybody will want to talk about Uther's latest announcement. Regarding Cornelius Sigan's possible gift, that is."

"Am I the only person in this solar system who'd never heard of the man before Monday?" Merlin said, cross in his turn. "It's beginning to be embarrassing."

There was a thud and a crunching noise outside the door, and both men turned their heads in surprise.

"Bloody hell!" came Will's voice from the corridor. "Fucking ow! Who left these cardboard boxes lying about the hallway?"

Gaius turned a faintly accusing glance in Merlin's direction.

Merlin cleared his throat. "Sorry, Will," he called, heading for the door. "I forgot...my fault. Are you okay?"

"Oh...Merlin." Will's voice held a hint of resignation. "I should have known, mate."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Have you heard about the manuscript that's coming up for auction at Sotheby's?" Lance asked, addressing the room in general. It was just past ten, and nearly all of the regulars, but for the Assistant Director, had assembled in the staff lounge for coffee or tea. Will was rummaging in a biscuit tin. Leon was manfully dealing with the ancient, recalcitrant coffee maker, and Morgana was doing battle with a crumpet that had gotten stuck in the toaster.

"I sent an email to Uther about it," Gaius replied, looking at his cup of black coffee as though it were the Elixir of Life. "It's a fine specimen. Fifteenth century. Beautiful illuminations of lords and ladies, playing the lute and viol and serenading each other with mournful courtly love ditties."

"I suppose we still have money in the Purchase Fund for this year?" asked Gwen, and Morgana nodded.

"Enough to try and bid on it at auction, anyway," the senior curator remarked, triumphantly brandishing the liberated crumpet. "I went to examine it last week, and the Sotheby's staff was all over me. One of you should have a look and tell me what you think."

"Will, why don't you do it this time?" said the Assistant Director as he appeared in the doorway. "You haven't been since last year. I'd go, but I don't think I have time this week."

Will shrugged his shoulders agreeably. "I'll do it, I'd like to. There won't be much on my schedule this week, apart from working on Lord Moldywart. But are you sure Merlin shouldn't go?"

"Not Merlin, not this time," Arthur replied abruptly. "He had his turn recently; you do it, Will."

"Right," said Will, cheerfully. "But I'm not going incognito."

Everybody smiled, because that had been Merlin's method, when he had first come to the Institute as a highly promising fledgling conservator, fresh out of Cambridge and conservation courses at the Courtauld Institute. Arthur remembered the days - not that long ago - when Merlin, aged twenty-four, could don a scruffy rock-band tee shirt and a pair of faded jeans with holes in the knees, slap a fake (yet real-looking) tattoo on one arm and a black leather wristlet on the other, and pass as a high school student visiting the auction house to write a report on some painting or other. This was no longer possible; he had become too well known in the museum community. Now when he went to an auction house to examine a work of art, he wore a suit and tie and was greeted by name by members of staff when he arrived.

(Arthur had never admitted as much, but the sight of Merlin in the guise of a teenage student, less than a year earlier, had nearly driven him crazy. Not that he had ever been attracted to jail bait - he hadn't - but his junior conservator had looked so appetising in that punkish - or was it gothish? - getup that Arthur had been forced to turn his eyes away.)

"I can give you my fake tattoos," Merlin said from one end of the sofa, and Will hooted with laughter before giving Arthur a grateful look. It was remarkable, really, how his attitude toward the Assistant Director had changed since the "Valiant Incident" at the Metropolitan, when Arthur had neatly decked the Met conservator, Valiant, for striking and injuring Merlin.

Of course Will was Merlin's childhood friend, and if he had been suspicious of Arthur Pendragon's relations with the Institute's newest conservator, that single event (which had made headlines in the press and gotten the Metropolitan Museum some unwanted publicity) had changed his view of Arthur from playboy predator to hero in shining armor.

"I'd love to see it, myself," Gwen murmured above the rim of her coffee mug. "The manuscript, that is. Arthur, did Uther really say that Cornelius Sigan was _giving_ us one of his tapestries? That's incredibly exciting. And Uther must be pleased, because it means we don't have to spend _money_."

"He said that Sigan was _thinking_ about it," Arthur replied. "I have to go and see him during my London visit."

"Oh," said Gwen, pulling her thick mass of curly brown hair back from her face and frowning. "Doesn't he live in-"

"Kensington," Arthur muttered, examining his piece of toast with a disgruntled air. "And he keeps his collection in his home, not in storage."

"So you'll have to go to his home to meet with him?"

"So it seems," said Arthur with distaste.

"Perhaps he'll invite you to dinner with his trophy wife," drawled Morgana, sitting down on the sofa next to Leon. "She can talk the hind legs off a wretched donkey. You'd better brush up on your knowledge of fashion magazines and hot movie stars."

" _No_ ," said Arthur, scowling.

"Oh, the things we do for our careers," Morgana continued relentlessly. "Oh the sacrifices we make. All for the greater glory of the Pendragon Institute."

"Don't despair," Gwen said in what was meant to be a consoling manner. "Mr Sigan's a businessman. Perhaps he isn't at all like his wife, and can converse on subjects other than fashion mags and hot...what was it? Hot movie stars."

"Let's hope so," growled Arthur, reaching for his mug of coffee and taking Gaius' instead.

"He really is the oddest duck," Gwen added, looking mystified. "I can't think why he collects medieval tapestries. I should guess Abstract Expressionism would be more to his taste."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Does _everybody_ think Sigan's an odd duck?" asked Merlin, curious.

"Everybody knows he's _eccentric_ ," Arthur replied, frowning just a little.

"Many collectors are eccentric," Merlin went on. "A lot of them are regular pack rats. It's the nesting instinct gone wild."

"I suppose," said Arthur, one corner of his mouth quirking upward. "And I'd rather not talk about him just now, if you don't mind."

"Sorry," Merlin said, trying to sound apologetic. "I wouldn't have asked, but I can tell you're worried about-"

" _Mer_ lin," sighed Arthur, drawing his eyebrows together. "I am _not_ worried. About anything. So-"

"Right," said Merlin, unconvinced. "Okay. I understand."

"Obviously you don't," murmured Arthur, caught between amusement and exasperation. He tightened his grasp on Merlin's hips to hold him steady.

"I _do_ ," insisted Merlin. "And don't call me an idiot... _oh_."

"I wasn't about to," Arthur said silkily. "Idiot," he added a moment later, but gently, as he saw Merlin's eyelids flutter and felt those slim-fingered hands clutch at his shoulder blades.

"You... _oh, Arthur_ ," Merlin said faintly, arching upwards. "You-"

"Shut up," replied Arthur smugly, lowering his face to Merlin's.


	6. You're a Riddle, Merlin

Arthur stood in the middle of his kitchen and stared at the boxes and bundles of unfamiliar products on the shelves, and on the top of the butcher-block table.

There was no question that sharing a flat with Merlin had made for a number of noticeable changes in his lifestyle. Starting with eating habits, and the way in which he kept his kitchen stocked. A meat and potatoes sort of man from his youth, Arthur now found himself face to face with such novelties as vegetarian stew, meat-free "sausages," soy "burgers," and cartons of lactose-free milk whenever he opened his refrigerator.

Arthur could picture Uther, a hearty eater who favored chops, well-cured ham, and ordered fork-tender Kobe beef at high-end restaurants on a regular basis, rolling his eyes at Merlin's dietary habits.

As far as Arthur was concerned, Merlin could fill his refrigerator with tofu, beans, and bottles of Romulan ale. As long as he remained a part of Arthur Pendragon's life.

Not that he would ever say as much, out loud. Certainly not to Merlin.

He made a mental note to let Uther know about Merlin's food preferences before their visit to London. Then he scratched that, and made another mental note to let Uther's _household staff_ know about them.

Arthur wondered whether he should speak to his junior conservator about their accommodations in Ealdor. Naturally Merlin's mother, Hunith, had offered to let them stay in her little home, but from what Arthur understood, the home was very little indeed. Merlin had told him that the guest bedroom was about the size of one of the walk-in closets in Arthur's flat. Furthermore, when Arthur had broached the subject of food, and said that he didn't want to impose on Hunith, or make her feel obliged to prepare meals for them, Merlin had raised his eyes to the ceiling, guffawed, and said that he didn't think his mother's cooking was, well, quite up to Pendragon standards.

"As much as I love my mum, people used to joke that I left home because of her cooking," he had said between gusts of laughter.

Anyway, Merlin had told him that the guest bedroom was _very_ tiny, and across the landing from his, _and_ that the floor of the landing creaked.

London was a different story. They would be staying with Uther, for although the family home in Belgravia was undergoing renovations, the senior Pendragon had purchased a house in Earls Terrace, Kensington, with the intention of selling it later on. He was using it as temporary digs, and as such it was quite satisfactory, being both spacious and in a prestigious part of town. Arthur had no doubts whatsoever about where his father would put Merlin during their brief sojourn in London. Uther would give Merlin the bedroom that was the farthest away from Arthur's. Preferably on another floor. If this were the Middle Ages, he would probably station armed guards in front of Arthur's door to prevent Merlin from entering. As it was, Arthur could _almost_ imagine his father setting up an elaborate electronic alarm system that would trip if he or Merlin went within ten feet of each other at bedtime.

If it hadn't been for the stellar quality of Merlin's conservation work, and the glowing reputation that was building up around him in the international museum community, Arthur was almost certain that Uther would have tried to find an excuse to sack him. He grudgingly had accepted Merlin's presence in Arthur's private life - outwardly, anyway - but it was no secret that he had always harbored certain marital ambitions for his offspring. Both Arthur and Morgana occasionally joked about what they saw as his father's plans to marry him off to the daughter of some wealthy member of the peerage at the very least.

"Why would a peer's daughter want to marry me anyway?" he had asked Merlin one evening.

"Have you looked in the mirror recently?" Merlin had retorted. "Of course it's not your fault you're so pretty."

"I. Am. _Not._ Pretty." Arthur growled. "And don't say that again, you."

"Beautiful, then," his impossible conservator had replied. His eyes had been on Arthur's classically sculpted face, lingering on that full, pink lower lip. Now his gaze slid over the broad shoulders and chest, continuing down over lightly bronzed skin and well toned muscle.

"Find a more masculine adjective please," Arthur ordered. He felt the rise and fall of Merlin's chest under his hand, as those blue eyes returned to his face.

"Are you trying to count my ribs?" Merlin had asked conversationally. "I can assure you I'm not missing any."

"What you're missing is body mass," said Arthur. "Here, here, and here. In fact, all over. You really do need to consume more carbohydrates. However," he had added, his fingers brushing over skin that was silk to the touch, "I'm not exactly complaining."

That conversation had taken place a week ago. Merlin was still thin as a rail, and Arthur was still apprehensive about what Uther would do when they were both under his roof.

On the plus side of things, Arthur's highly precocious and much younger half-brother, Mordred, was fascinated with Merlin (and Merlin's profession) and had already voiced his support of him to their father, in no uncertain terms. Arthur didn't know exactly what Mordred had said, but he was fairly certain the boy's speech had been delivered with the uncanny stare and in the precise, chilly voice that were typical of the youngest Pendragon.

Of course Morgana was on their side as well, but if Uther became aware of just how close she had become to the Pendragon Institute's Head of Security, she would be as much in the doghouse as Arthur was.

"If Uther asks you, my most recent date was with one of the richest lawyers for the Walt Disney Company," Morgana had said to him only yesterday at work. "If I bring Leon to London with me, God knows how I'm going to hide him."

Arthur had shrugged. "Why bother? If the two of you are in London together, he'll find out eventually. Even if you _are_ going to stay in a hotel."

"Why Uther has to be so controlling - and so snobbish - about who his son and stepdaughter date is beyond understanding," she had continued, her voice rising. "That is, who's going to care all that much, in this day and age, if I'm seeing somebody who works as a museum guard of sorts. Or whether you're in love with-"

"Morgana!" Arthur had hissed at her, because they were, after all, in his office. Fortunately, the door was closed and it was unlikely that anybody had overheard their exchange.

Why did lo...why did relationships have to make life so complicated?

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Perhaps Morgana's right and we should buy the tickets now," Merlin called from the study at the other end of the flat. "And reserve a car. We'll be doing a lot of driving."

"Hang on," Arthur shouted back. "What's this 'we'?" You haven't a license."

"Alright," Merlin said in a mildly exasperated voice. " _You'll_ be doing a lot of driving."

"It would be nice if you could get a license this summer," Arthur mused loudly. "On second thoughts..."  Images of truly awful road crashes and pile-ups, all caused by Merlin, had suddenly popped into his head. It was the sort of thought that other Institute staffers probably would have had, knowing the difference between the brilliantly focused, meticulous Merlin of the Conservation studios and the absent-minded, awkward Merlin of everyplace else.

Although Merlin, at the Institute, was rather reserved and very polite, every person on staff had come to realize that there was a touch of impish mischief, and a rather dark sense of humor, hidden beneath that quiet surface. He was rarely loud or boisterous (like Will, for example), and he almost never sat about, talking sports and drinking beer with "the boys," as Lance and Leon often did. He was consistently helpful, always upbeat and positive, and seemed to love his work. The rest of the staff had gotten accustomed to the odd contrast of his remarkable precision and perfectionism within the Conservation Department and his equally remarkable clumsiness outside of it. They were quite used to it now, just as they had gotten used to his trace of Northern Irish accent. Arthur appreciated the fact that Merlin never challenged his authority at work, although he felt entirely free to _disagree_ with the Assistant Director at a moment's notice.

In Arthur's flat, now _their_ flat (Merlin vehemently insisted on paying for part of their expenses, and Arthur, amused, let him), they were still in the stage of figuring out who was responsible for what. Merlin carried his weight when it came to keeping things in order, listened to Arthur rant about Morgana or Uther or something to do with work, and kept Arthur entertained with his own chatter, but it was plain as day that the word "subservient" was not part of Merlin's vocabulary.

Nor was the word "submissive," although there were times (mostly related to what they did in bed) when Merlin allowed himself to be just a touch submissive. It was actually rather delicious, Arthur thought, to feel his usually insubordinate conservator become yielding, languid, and compliant in his arms. But this was not always the case, and Arthur believed that he was being quite democratic in occasionally letting Merlin have the upper hand (and dominant role) when they had sex. Once out of bed, of course, he always rapidly reverted to his _Merlinish_ self, which was one of the things Arthur lo…found so intriguing about him.

"Forget about the license," he called as he started down the hall to the study. "I don't mind driving, really."

In the study, its walls panelled with dark wood and lined with bookshelves, he found Merlin paging through a scholarly journal featuring an article on techniques for dealing with gold leaf in medieval manuscripts. He was leaning against a chair, long legs encased in skinny black jeans, a close-fitting, dark grey tee shirt complementing his delicate pallor. Merlin's horn-rimmed glasses, used for reading or close-up work, were perched on his slender nose, and his hair was standing on end where he had raked his fingers through it. As usual, Arthur's senses leapt at the very sight of him. After a moment, Merlin removed his glasses, put them on one of the bookshelves, and rubbed his eyes like a sleepy child.

"I've been having trouble with burnished gold lately," he confessed, chewing on his lower lip. "But there's good information here."

He put the journal back into the bookshelf, knocking his glasses off the edge in the process. Arthur caught them.

"I've said it before," Arthur murmured. "And I'll say it again. You're a riddle, Merlin. I'm amazed that every breakable object in this flat is still intact. Did Will go to the auction house to look at that manuscript Gaius wants us to buy?"

"Yeah," said Merlin. "He thinks it's excellent. Gwen's still nattering on about Sigan's tapestries."

"She would, she's the textile conservator," Arthur replied. "Now, no more talk about Sigan. I don't suppose Will went incognito, did he?"

"Of course not," Merlin answered. "He doesn't want to dress like a student. And he hates tight fitting jeans. He said, and I quote, 'I can't wear those things, they squash my dangly bits.' But he spent nearly an hour looking at the manuscript."

"Right," said the Assistant Director. "He'll give us a report tomorrow, then. Are you ready to go out to dinner? If you're going dressed like that, I suppose the local diner or pizza place is in order. I don't think the Four Seasons or Le Cirque would even let you in the door."

"Cool," replied Merlin. "Let's go. Erm...do I still need to wear the neckscarf?"


	7. Gaius Has a Visitor

The third week in April was busier than usual for Pendragon Institute staff. The Assistant Director conferred frequently with Morgana, who would be running things during most of his absence in June, and with old Geoffrey Monmouth, who would be running things during _Morgana's_ four-day weekend in London. Merlin also conferred with Gaius about which conservation projects could be handed over to Will during _his_ own absence. There was no sense in trying to hide the fact that the two would be traveling together, and in fact the only staff members at the Institute who were ignorant of Arthur's relationship with his junior conservator were the high school girls who worked as volunteers in the library, or helped out in the gift shop. They still sighed with heartfelt longing whenever the handsome Assistant Director strode past them in the hallways (Morgana teased him about this, mercilessly). Wealthy donors to the museum, some of whom knew nothing about the people who worked there, also made eyes in his direction. It was a running joke amongst the senior staff that if they could only auction off _a shag or two_ from the Assistant Director at the Annual Benefit Party, they could make a bloody fortune for the museum, with money left over for year-end bonuses.

"Why stop at one or two?" Morgana asked. "A week's worth, and we could all get raises as well as bonuses."

Arthur overheard this at the end of a staff meeting and scowled.

"What makes everybody think I'm that good?" he muttered.

"I don't know. But just imagine," said Morgana in a rather loud voice, "if Mrs Alined bid the highest and won."

Mrs Alined was generous with her money, being the wife of a wealthy executive in the auto industry who had once (rumor had it) been an arms dealer. Alined was quite indulgent with his spouse, when he wasn't traveling the globe, more or less promoting war wherever he went. The missus was voluptuous and handsome, but also exceedingly bossy ("Worse than you," Arthur said to his stepsister), and generally unpleasant. As such, the Institute's employees had voted her the least popular of all of their financial donors.

"Good lord," Arthur groaned under his breath. "Mrs Alined? I really don't think I could do it. Uh, perform, I mean."

He kept his eyes on his meeting notes rather than look at Merlin, with whom he had performed beautifully the night before.

"As this week has been exceptionally busy," Morgana stated dryly to the room at large, "I'm not surprised that we've covered so much ground in today's staff meeting. However, I had no idea we were going to move on to the question of whether or not we should be pimping our Assistant Director, even if it would do a great deal to replenish the Purchase Fund."

There was a burst of laughter from the senior staff that went on for several minutes. Arthur stared daggers in Morgana's direction, but refrained from suggesting that they do the same with the senior curator.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Although some wealthy donors paid little attention to the causes or institutions to which they gave money every year (and received tax breaks as a result), there were others who were genuinely interested in the organizations to which they supplied funds. These people would certainly have read the articles in various magazines and newspapers about the "Valiant Incident" at the Metropolitan Museum, Valiant's attack on Merlin, and the now famous fistfight between the Institute's Assistant Director and the Met's dodgy criminal-turned-conservator. Few of the reputable newspapers had said anything in particular about a friendship (of any kind) between Arthur and Merlin, although the tabloids - naturally - had had a field day with romance rumors. In addition, the cover story _Vanity Fair_ had featured on the history of the Institute made an indirect reference to the reason why Uther Pendragon's son had pasted Valiant so efficiently on the jaw.

This is, it had mentioned how Arthur, having knocked Valiant halfway across the room, had promptly climbed into an ambulance to accompany his unconscious young conservator to the hospital. And how he had looked after him for several days after the hospital discharged him.

Morgana kept a copy of this issue of _Vanity Fair_ on the desk in her office, as the glossy cover photograph of the magazine showed herself, Arthur, Geoffrey, Lance, and the four members of the Conservation Department, standing on the front steps of the Institute. At least once a week, Arthur asked her, in long-suffering tones, to remove it.

"Whatever for?" was Morgana's usual reply. "The photographs are lovely." Her long fingers, tipped with shell-pink or brilliant crimson polish, would run across the pages of the article, pointing out the full-page image of Arthur and herself, standing in front of the museum's Sicilian fresco, and smaller photos of Gwen at work, Lance, Gaius and Will standing by a suit of armor, and Merlin, all angles, cheekbones, and boyish grin, inspecting Lord Moldywart's mottled surface.

Surprisingly, Uther had said very little on the subject of what he must have considered negative publicity, even though attendance at the Institute had gone up after the _Vanity Fair_ issue appeared on the newsstands. The public had been curious, and when Arthur stepped out of his office and into any of the display galleries between ten and five o'clock, museum hours, he often found himself the object of more stares than the works of art.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

On the Friday of that third week in April, Gaius received a call from the information desk, informing him that he had a visitor.

Gaius was not downstairs in the Conservation studios, but in his office, going over paperwork and complaining to Merlin - whose tiny office was behind his - about the pain and indignity of his arthritis. When his guest appeared in his doorway, escorted there by one of the library volunteers, he got to his feet, wincing, and went to shake his hand. Through the half open door between the offices, Merlin could see the visitor: a man, rather tall and erect, grey haired with a narrow, aristocratic-looking face, hooded eyes, and a thin-lipped smile.

"Aredian," said Gaius in a surprised and wary voice. "It's been years. May I offer my congratulations on your liberated state."

Gaius spoke wryly, but Merlin understood his words, and recognized the name. Aredian was a veteran objects conservator, one of the best-known in his field, who had worked for years at the British Museum and then for the National Gallery in Washington, D.C. He had recently retired, and now worked on a freelance basis, traveling from place to place as he received commissions from various institutions and collectors. Merlin was aware that both Gaius and Uther were acquainted with the man, and that Gaius respected him as a master of his profession. From the tone of his supervisor's voice, however, it was doubtful that this respect included feelings of friendship.

"Won't you sit down?" Gaius was saying politely, and Merlin backed away from the door so as not to be seen.

"Ive just come from London," Aredian replied, flicking invisible grains of dust from his black shirt. "I had some work there. I saw Uther at a lecture series, and he suggested that I stop in here and see how things were doing in your department."

Merlin's stomach sank like a stone.

"We're doing quite well, thank you," Gaius answered, eyeing his guest with a mixture of curiosity and cautiousness. "I hope Uther doesn't think otherwise. We keep him informed, and he _does_ come over on occasion to inspect things."

"I just had a look at your new acquisition, the Sicilian fresco," Aredian continued. "Superb piece. Very fine. And everything in the galleries looks to be in good condition. But we all know how time and the environment affect things, don't we, Gaius? I'm sure you're keeping your staff busy, especially with the change of season. I imagine your humidification system is up to snuff?"

"Yes it is," Gaius said, clearly trying to keep his temper. "Although for armor and metalwork, as you're well aware, we have to keep humidity levels low. Whereas wood and paper like humidity at fifty percent. But we're fully staffed and work hasn't been a problem. We have a fourth conservator now, you know."

"Ah yes," murmured Aredian. "Of course. The boy, Merlin."

Merlin was becoming rather tired of hearing himself referred to as "the boy" by some of the older conservators in the business.

"I've heard very positive things about him," Aredian continued in that cold voice. "I've not seen his work, but people who have are very complimentary. With that, ah, recent publicity, some thought he was simply Arthur's new toy, but I take it that is not the case?"

"It is definitely not the case," said Gaius stiffly. "I don't believe I've ever met a conservator - new or experienced, young or old - with his gifts and his eye," he added pointedly.

"I'm happy to hear it," Aredian responded smoothly. "It's always good to hear about new talent. So few young people apply themselves to this sort of painstaking work, these days. I've seen his picture; rather a pretty thing, isn't he?"

Having heard himself referred to as a boy and a thing within the space of five minutes, Merlin was not inclined to feel kindly towards their unexpected visitor.

"He does his work and he does it well," Gaius muttered. "I don't see what his appearance has to do with it."

"Nothing at all," replied Aredian in what was probably meant to be a jovial manner. "You're quite right. Now, why not have the boy in here, so that I can meet him?"

" _The boy_ is right next door," Gaius said dryly. "Merlin! If you have a moment..."

Merlin took a deep breath, made an effort to smooth down his hair, and stepped into Gaius' office, raising his eyes to meet Aredian's.

"Aredian, meet Merlin Emrys," Gaius was saying. "Merlin, of course you know of Aredian's work. He's in New York for...just how long are you here, Aredian?"

"Three days only," came the cool reply as Aredian took Merlin's hand and shook it. "A pleasure, Mr Emrys. I've heard a great deal about you."

"Erm...thanks?" said Merlin uncertainly as he took a step backwards and bumped into Gaius' desk.

"You'll be coming to London this June, I understand." It was a statement, not a question.

"Y-yes, for a week or so. Enough time to visit the museums and meet with a few people."

"Pity I shan't be there then; otherwise I could introduce you to a number of our colleagues." Aredian's eyes skimmed Merlin's face. "Now, I wonder if you would be so kind - if you have the time, that is - to show me what you've been working on in the studio."

Merlin sighed inwardly and, after catching Gaius' warning glance, led the way to the stairs, and then down them to the Conservation rooms. In the Paper Conservation studio, he pointed out an illuminated manuscript on which he had been stabilizing flaking pigment. Next door, in the Objects Conservation studio, he described his treatment of the insect-damaged Saint John.

"Impressive," commented Aredian with a smile Merlin could only describe as chilling. "Excellent work."

At least he hadn't called Merlin a boy again-

"And now, my boy, if you wouldn't mind returning me to Gaius," Aredian said blithely. "I'll stop in to see your Assistant Director, and then I'll be on my way."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Well, Merlin," Gaius said soberly an hour later. "You've met the great Aredian...what did you think of him?"

"If you really must know," Merlin said, frowning, "he made me nervous. But I think he made _you_ nervous as well, so I'm not alone."

"He's not an easy man to get to know," replied Gaius grimly. "I don't feel I really know him, and I've 'known' him for decades. Rather a cold fish, I'm afraid. Superb conservator, of course. I have the odd feeling Uther's asked him to spy on us, although I can't imagine why. Good job he's leaving town in three days."

"He's not coming back here tomorrow, is he?" Merlin almost shouted in a voice that sounded perilously similar to an anxious child's.

"No, I don't think so," Gaius murmured. "He has an appointment at the Metropolitan Museum tomorrow. But I'll bet dollars to donuts - as the Americans say - that he'll be asking their conservators questions about us."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Merlin retreated to his small office and began, rather haphazardly, to tidy it. In the process, he discovered his own copy of the issue of _Vanity Fair_ with the Institute staff on the cover, and wondered whether it was publicity of this sort that had made Uther ask Aredian to look in on them. Surely the Senior Director couldn't think that the quality of exhibitions and scholarship produced by the Institute had declined as a result of...as a result of...

He wondered vaguely what Aredian had said to Arthur, and how Arthur had taken whatever Aredian had had to say. Of course the Assistant Director would have been polite, perhaps even deferential, to a man of Aredian's years, an old acquaintance of his father's. But the private Arthur probably had not been pleased to know that his father thought he needed checking up on.

It wasn't always easy for Merlin to reconcile all of the different Arthurs in his mind. The Assistant Director, cool and self-assured, just a little autocratic, with an occasional touch of arrogance. Arthur the scholar and administrator, reading through recent publications by respected medievalists or going over notes from Institute staff meetings with an eagle eye. The boyish, laughing, but undeniably _competitive_ Arthur who played football with old university friends in Central Park. The prattish Arthur, who could lose his temper at the drop of a hat. The fair-minded Arthur, who had been a good and supportive friend for years to Gwen, his ex-lover, and who treated Leon, a security guard, as a social equal and friend. The intent, serious, and passionate Arthur who held him in his arms at night.

Merlin's office phone rang and he ran to answer it, nearly tripping over a pile of books he had borrowed from Geoffrey's library that morning.

"Merlin, for God's sake," came Arthur's voice, a little waspish. "Where the bloody hell are those photographs of Lord Moldywart I asked you for yesterday?"

Ah. The prattish Arthur. Aredian's little visit clearly had not improved his mood.

"Morgana has them, Arthur," Merlin said patiently. "I just sent you an email about that. She'll give them to you before five."

Arthur grumbled. Merlin could picture his hands, large, elegantly-shaped and strong, resting on his desk, his fingers tapping the desktop in irritation. The hands that caressed him so expertly in bed.

Merlin swallowed and fidgeted in his chair. "I'll remind Morgana," he said into the telephone. "She'll bring them over to you. Or if she's too busy, I will."

"You bring them," ordered Arthur abruptly, and Merlin smiled a little at the possessive edge in the Assistant Director's voice.

"Right," he said obediently and rang off, setting the phone down and heading for the senior curator's office to collect the desired photographs.

* * *


	8. Distractions and Sex (and Vice Versa)

And then, sometime during the first few days of May, everything got quiet.

Perhaps it was because of an unusual hot spell. Outdoor temperatures rose to uncomfortable levels. Attendance at all of the city's museums fell slightly. College and university students began cramming for final exams as the end of spring term drew near, and there were noticeably fewer teenage couples making out in the galleries in the late afternoons.

With no major loans or exhibitions coming up, there was little in the way of new activity at the Pendragon Institute. Which was fine for most of the staff, exhausted by April's busy schedule and content to take long coffee breaks, or long lunchtime walks in the park. It was not fine for the Assistant Director, however, and when Morgana told him to chill and do something meaningless or relaxing, he very nearly lost his temper.

The problem was that Arthur really was not good at handling inactivity. He was also not good at following other people's orders - one of the reasons why he and Uther got on best when the Atlantic Ocean was between them. Arthur was a born leader, he had a tendency to take command in any situation, and if he was slowly learning to become less autocratic in practice, that didn't mean he was willing to surrender pride of place to anyone.

It _did_ mean that he genuinely had to struggle not to tell everybody else what to do and how to do it on a regular basis.

"You must learn to listen as well as you fight," Merlin had once said to him after a staff meeting during which everybody had disagreed (loudly) with everybody else.

"Any other pointers?" Arthur had snapped, and that was the end of _that_ conversation.

To add to the problem was the undisputed fact that Arthur was always full of restless energy, and needed to be busy doing _something_. This usually was not an issue during the busiest seasons at the Institute, when he was kept occupied by the duties of an assistant museum director, but during lulls in the activity - such as the one they were experiencing now - he could be found pacing his office or tapping his fingers impatiently on his desk whilst everybody else was leaning back, watching Youtube on their iPhones, and catching a breather. Twice a week he went to the gym, sometimes in the company of Lance, and he did have the occasional game of football in the park, but these diversions were obviously not enough when things at work were slow.

"He needs some form of distraction," Merlin said to Morgana one day after the long lull in their work schedule had left Arthur looking out of sorts and bored.

"I thought _you_ provided the distraction, dear," Morgana replied sweetly, and Merlin gritted his teeth, because as fond as he was of the senior curator, her verbal sniping could be extremely trying. Arthur had been complaining about this ever since he'd known him.

Plus, she had spoken within hearing distance of Lance and Leon, who were now grinning like a pair of five-year-olds.

Well, _some_ things definitely had been easier in the days when he and Arthur were on the DL.

And Morgana was correct in one respect; Arthur was almost never restless at home, where Merlin's presence offered ample distraction. They had what seemed to Merlin to be absolutely unbelievable amounts of sex, but afterwards (or more accurately, between bouts) they were very comfortable and at ease together, whether reading or watching television, or doing the washing-up after meals. (Arthur was still hopeless when it came to cooking, so they either dined out, ordered take-away, or relied on Merlin to produce a vegetable something-or-other that they both could eat.) There were now two desks in Arthur's study, with two computers; Merlin's books had been added to the rows of volumes on Arthur's bookcases, and he and Arthur spent hours doing research in companionable silence, pausing occasionally to exchange information or - just as often - hurl casual insults at each other.

"Stop trying to read private emails over my shoulder," Merlin had already complained more than once. "Unless I say you can."

"No worries," was a typically Arthur-ish reply. "Your ears are quite blocking my view."

Then they would go back to bed and have more unbelievable amounts of sex.

Merlin was beginning to wonder whether shirts that fastened with velcro wouldn't be a good idea.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

According to Arthur, Aredian had said nothing out of the ordinary during his brief visit. Yes, he agreed, it was odd that the "retired" conservator had stopped into the Insitute to visit them, as he had never done so before. Yes, he knew it was at Uther's request. _Yes_ , it was extremely irritating, but there was nothing to be done about it, and why should they care, anyway? Then he announced that _yes_ , they were going to have a staff meeting next week, even if things were slow, and he didn't care if the others would prefer not to, because his word was law.

"Pendragons tend to have difficulty with the concept of democracy," Morgana said when she heard about this. "We have absolutely no need for a staff meeting next week. Arthur just wants something to do."

"To distract him, you mean?" Merlin asked, and Morgana gave an elaborate shrug.

Having sex was evidently one of Arthur's favorite forms of distraction that month, and Merlin wasn't complaining, but he was also beginning to wonder what would happen when the two of them were in London together, in _Uther's home_. He wasn't terribly worried about Ealdor; they were staying at an inn rather than with his mother (their excuse being that they didn't want to be underfoot in her very small house), but in London they would have to sneak, and it was going to be tricky. Particularly since Arthur's libido seemed to be in overdrive these days.

"What is going on with you, Pendragon?" Merlin managed to gasp one Friday night, quite late, when Arthur found himself unable to sleep and wanted, no, needed, _a great deal_ of distraction.

"Do you want me to stop, Merlin?" Arthur mumbled against his throat, between bites and nibbles. They had been at it since well before midnight, and unless Arthur's digital clock was broken, it was now well past one.

"N-no," replied Merlin, hoping his neck scarf wasn't somewhere in the laundry. Arthur was blessed with a set of rather sharp and definitely pointed eye teeth, which looked charming when he smiled. "I don't. But-"

"Hmmmm," said Arthur, magnanimously rolling them over so that Merlin was on top.

"Morgana says you have difficulty with democracy," Merlin panted, moments later. "But she isn't right about everything."

In response, Arthur said "Shut up," and then " _Oh_ ," and then " _Mer_ lin," with a little, ragged catch in his voice, squeezing his eyes shut, and tightening his hands in Merlin's hair. Of course Morgana wasn't right about everything. He might be a dominant type of male by nature, but with Merlin he felt it was only fair to offer the opportunity to switch roles on occasion. That is, it seemed only fair to let Merlin do, uh, _that_ to him, since he had been doing _that_ to Merlin for some time.**

"Are you...are you alright, Arthur?" Merlin asked with genuine concern afterwards.

"Never better," said Arthur. "You know, I really do think I could sleep now."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

A very different sort of distraction (or so it seemed at first) was offered by a series of lectures on medieval manuscripts, being held at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. It was open to the public, for a fee, but medievalists and museum staff from various institutions around the country received free invitations. Naturally, Arthur and Morgana received them, as did Gaius, Gwen, and Will. If Merlin was put out at not having been sent one, he didn't show it.

"Don't tell me our dear friends in the Medieval Department have forgotten about you," Arthur said. "What short memories they have."

Arthur was certain that the Met would send Merlin an invitation, but there were moments when he enjoyed giving his conservator a hard time.

"I'll just go online, pay the fee, and reserve a seat, like everybody else in the general public," Merlin was saying with cheerful equanimity. "That's fine with me."

"If you want a proper, official, and _free_ invitation from the Metropolitan's staff, I'm sure they'd be happy to send one if you call the Medieval Department, and give them your name," Arthur continued. "They just need a little reminding. Or you can ask that Miss Coulby, in the Special Events office, she'll send you one. She's a nice, efficient sort of girl...I went out with her for a bit, two years ago."

"Oh," said Merlin with studied nonchalance, but Arthur was not fooled in the least.

"And if you don't want to wait for the post, you can _beg_ them to send one over by messenger. They're barely three blocks away."

"I'm not in the habit of _begging_ for anything," Merlin said stiffly.

"Oh, really?" Arthur retorted, suddenly smug. "I seem to recall several occasions... _Oh, Arthur, don't stop...more, Arthur, more please_...but I suppose those don't count?"

Merlin's pillowy lips tightened into a thin line as his cheeks flamed crimson, and Arthur immediately assumed a dubiously contrite expression as he reached out and pulled Merlin against his chest.

"Just joking," he said, working very hard to keep from grinning as he stared into Merlin's eyes, which had gone midnight blue and stormy.

"You are the most conceited, arrogant prat I have ever met," Merlin muttered before Arthur kissed him.

After a while he removed his lips from Merlin's and pressed light kisses along the length of his jaw, on the sensitive spot just below his ear (that he knew made Merlin shiver every time), and down the pale column of his throat. When he raised his head he could see that his conservator's eyes had gone soft and dreamy, and his cheeks, no longer crimson, were delicately flushed.

Merlin closed his eyes. " _More_ , Arthur," he whispered.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

His invitation arrived in the post the following morning (which happened to be Saturday), and Arthur crowed with laughter whilst Merlin glowered at him. He pretended to be angry for the next hour, but Arthur suspected this might be a ploy to get Arthur to drag him into the bedroom. Whatever the case, it certainly worked.

"I should get out of this bed and do something useful," Merlin finally said in the early afternoon, extricating his thin, long-limbed self from the twisted bedclothes, and then sitting up and looking businesslike. "I promised Gaius I would look over his old condition reports on all of the sculptures."

"You said that an hour ago," Arthur mumbled into the pillow.

"That was before I got an earful of _Oh Merlin, please more, do that again, please_..."

"Right, point taken," Arthur snapped, pounding the pillow with his fist. "We'll _both_ get up and do some work, you confounded idiot."

"I always said, it takes one to know one," Merlin said with a straight face, and ducked as a pillow and then a bolster sailed briskly past his head.

They were halfway dressed, and Merlin was struggling into his tee shirt (having quite given up on wearing shirts with buttons, whilst at home) when his elbow caught Arthur on the chin by accident, and Arthur tackled him in retaliation. During the ensuing melee, which ended in the usual manner, it occurred to Merlin that perhaps they were being driven by the growing realization that they would probably _not_ be sleeping together in London, and were making up for it in advance.

Finally, just when it seemed as though almost anything Arthur and Merlin did, professionally or privately, was going to end in yet another session of what Arthur gleefully called "unbridled fucking" (and honestly, it was getting to the point where they were seriously and unquestionably sleep-deprived), the lull in office activity ended, and an email from Uther materialized on Arthur's computer the same morning.

* * *

** Since Chapter 22 of _Inside the Pendragon Institute_ , anyway. Although they became lovers in Chapter 14.


	9. Preparations

"Arthur," Morgana exclaimed at the sight of her yawning stepbrother. "Are those airline tickets? And are you sure you're not ill? You look pale, and you've got circles under your eyes."

The Assistant Director could only be grateful that Merlin was safely downstairs, ensconced in the Paper Conservation studio, so that Morgana couldn't see the dark shadows beneath _his_ eyes. Looking at him that morning, whilst he was still asleep and sprawled all over the kingsized mattress, mouth soft and relaxed, hair standing on end and tufted like a lynx's, and one hand clutching a pillow as though it were a teddy bear, Arthur had found the title of that '60s rock ballad by Procol Harum, "A Whiter Shade of Pale," flashing into his mind.

Not wanting to hear any further comments about his own pallor, Arthur retreated towards his office door, stuffing his newly-printed airline e-tickets into his pocket.

"I'm fine, Morgs," he replied shortly, pushing open the door with one hand and brandishing a Starbucks grande with the other. "The alarm system's off the rails again. Gwen says she found insect frass in the textile storage room. Father's sent me an email, and I thought I might need some coffee before I read it."

"What's frass?" Leon asked in passing. "It sounds like some kind of salad."

"It's insect shit, not to put too fine a point on it," Morgana said, frowning. "And that means we need to have liquid nitrogen treatment again."

"Bloody nuisance," mumbled Arthur, stepping into his office. With one hand on the door, he turned back towards Morgana. "Everything's set for London. You'll be pleased to know the airline tickets and seating are all in order. As are arrangements for the car. And the inn at Ealdor."

"One room or two?" asked Morgana, archly. Arthur promptly shut the door in her face.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

_Dear Arthur,_

_We look forward to your visit in three weeks' time. The house in Kensington is temporary, but I've had a number of our things moved there, and I trust you will be comfortable. There will be at least one dinner with some museum colleagues, including Aredian, who, I understand, visited you quite recently. Cornelius Sigan will contact you to arrange a meeting with both you and your junior conservator. Elaine hopes that you will be pleased with your room, which is two doors away from mine. Mordred offered to give up his room for Merlin, but I believe that the guest bedroom across the hall from his is perfectly adequate and will do nicely. Thank you for sending the Institute's attendance figures for April. I shall be out of the office for most of today; you may telephone me if you have any questions._

_Your affectionate father._

Well, that made things quite plain. Arthur had been expecting it, but he was annoyed to see that Uther had made a point of telling him he and Merlin would _not_ be sharing a room.

To his surprise, there was an email from Mordred on his computer.

_Dear Arthur,_

_I can't wait to see you and Merlin in June. It's been horribly boring here. I've been reading some Stephen Hawking for something to do, although I think Richard Feynman is more fun. Particle physics is cool. I don't like this house and hope they finish fixing our real one very soon. Morgana wrote and told me she'd be coming to London for a weekend. I think she must have a boyfriend Father doesn't approve of, because he looks cross whenever I talk about her. If she marries him, I think Father would have an apoplexy. I don't suppose you could marry Merlin? I would really like to keep him in the family. Please bring lots of choc bars when you come, and don't let Father see. He thinks they're bad for me, even if I don't have any spots._

_Love, Mordred_

_P.S. I've made something that should be helpful to you and Merlin. I can't describe it, but I will show it to you when you're here._

"Good lord! said Arthur out loud. "Particle physics? How old is the boy, eleven?" _Morgana...must have a boyfriend-_ how had Mordred figured that one out? He'd have to remember to pack the choc bars in his luggage. _I don't suppose you could marry -_ Arthur scowled and bit his lower lip. _Something that should be helpful to you and Merlin -_ What on earth? Arthur wasn't even going to try to imagine what the child was talking about.

The office phone rang and Arthur wearily picked up the receiver. "Yes?"

"Don't forget, Arthur," Morgana said. "We're attending those lectures at the Metropolitan Museum tomorrow."

"Right," replied the Assistant Director grimly. He rang off, swearing under his breath at no one in particular, and turned back to his computer.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Perhaps the gods were watching over him that week, Arthur thought, because the lectures at the Metropolitan turned out to be relatively painless. They were brief and to the point, the accompanying powerpoint images were interesting, and the crowd was a mixture of interested art lovers from the general public and professionals from the museum world. The worst bit was having to be pleasant to the Met's senior medieval curator, Dr Morgause Lothian, who had the grace to look embarrassed when Arthur appeared in the auditorium with Merlin in tow. The second-worst moment came after the talks, when Arthur, Morgana, and the other attending Institute staffers caught a glimpse of Nimueh, Head of Conservation at the Boston Museum of Fine Art. Arthur hadn't seen her since he and Merlin had been in Santa Barbara for an exhibition opening (after which they had slept together for the first time), but he had a vivid memory of the manner in which she had all but propositioned Merlin during the opening's reception.

She had wanted him to leave the Institute and defect to her conservation staff at the Boston Museum, but it seemed she had wanted him for other things as well.

Nimueh smiled at Merlin from across the crowded auditorium, and Merlin, for this occasion neatly attired in a jacket and tie, blushed and waved tentatively in her general direction.

"Thank God that's over with," Arthur snarled as he and his colleagues headed back to the Institute. "Now we can get back to ordinary matters like broken alarm systems, liquid nitrogen treatment, and insect crap."

Relieved at having the Met lectures over with, the airline tickets purchased, and everything under control but the packing, Arthur felt energetic enough, after work, to rapidly divest Merlin of that respectable jacket and tie, ruin another perfectly good shirt by sending the buttons flying, and push his junior conservator onto the bed in spite of his astonished half-protests.

"Are we going for a world record, Arthur?" Merlin asked after a while, but Arthur wouldn't let him say anything more.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

A week before the Assistant Director and Merlin departed for their "working vacation" ("working" because they would be meeting with collectors and hobnobbing with colleagues), Lance held a rooftop party and invited the entire staff of the Institute. The roof of his large, modern apartment building was fitted out with a deck, trees and flowers planted in tubs, and a large grill. Armed with barbecue sauce, a mountain of ribs, chops, and chicken wings, the host – remarkably good-looking even when swathed in a chef's apron vast enough to have been designed for a sumo wrestler – took charge of the cooking for the better part of an hour. After that, he sat down gratefully in a deck chair, and anybody who wanted to take a turn at the grill was free to do so. As usual, a vegetable dish, in this instance a plate of lovely sautéed vegetables and grilled corn on the cob, was provided for Merlin.

Gwen and Merlin watched with amusement as Arthur selected an enormous rib-eye steak and deposited it on the barbecue grill.

"Are you ready to face the enemy in London?" Gwen asked Merlin. They both smiled as Arthur backed away from the grill and flung himself into a nearby chair. "I meant Uther, of course."

"Well, erm, I suppose I'll just be polite and say as little as possible," Merlin said, fidgeting. "And I'll try to stay out of his way."

They sat in meditative silence for a while, watching the intrepid New York pigeons wheel and soar above the city rooftops. Merlin was surreptitiously admiring the way the sunlight illuminated Arthur's fair hair, turning it a brilliant shade of gold, when Gwen suddenly gave a giggle.

"Uther's much nicer to me now than he was in the days when, well, Arthur and I were going out, at uni," she said, remembering. "He was absolutely delighted when we split up. Now he's positively _friendly_ when he sees me."

"Oh...erm..."

"It took me a while to figure out how to behave in his presence. Just don't talk back to him and everything will be fine," Gwen said reassuringly. In a whisper she added, "After all, in this day and age he's _hardly_ likely to have you put in the stocks for being Arthur's…for having…for…for being, oh bloody hell, you know what I mean."

"No, he's more likely to have me burned at the stake," Merlin replied with a half smile.

"Steak!" shouted Arthur, leaping to his feet. He strode to the grill and then stared with dismay at the charred piece of beef that appeared to be sending up smoke signals.

"That's done it!" the Assistant Director said with chagrin, eyeing the carbonized substance sizzling away on the metal bars. The other Institute staff members made an effort to hide their mirth, whilst Gwen gave him a sympathetic smile and replaced the burnt steak with a fresh one.

"I'll watch it this time, Arthur," she said kindly. "Everybody knows you're barely capable of boiling water."

"It's your fault, as usual," Arthur murmured under his breath to Merlin, who was sniggering. "Now I'll have to devour _you_." This was said softly enough, so that nobody else could overhear him, but Merlin turned a mildly shocked face in Arthur's direction.

"Not _here_ ," whispered Merlin, wide-eyed. "And how is it my fault?"

"Everything's _always_ your fault," came the cheerfully acerbic reply. "Consider yourself lucky that I put up with it."

Merlin snorted and cast a doubtful eye over the empty lager cans next to the Assistant Director's deck chair. "He bullies me all the time," he then announced to Gwen. "And since spring arrived, it's got really bad."

"Excuse me?" said Arthur, raising his eyebrows. "Oh, I'm so _sorry_ you're being _bullied_ , _Mer-_ lin."

Gwen rolled her eyes and diplomatically moved away to the other side of the deck.

"This hasn't ceased to amaze me," Morgana said softly to Gwen as the two dragged their deck chairs closer to Lance and Leon. From there, they could watch Arthur and Merlin's animated exchange without being too obvious. "I've never seen Arthur like this with anyone. I mean with anyone with whom he was, well, you know."

"Amazing," Gwen agreed wryly.

"No offense," Morgana said apologetically, suddenly recalling Gwen and Arthur's university fling.

"None taken," Gwen replied, rolling her eyes again. "Arthur and I are quite fond of each other, but we put that little phase behind us long ago. He's been like a brother to me, ever since then. Odd, isn't it?"

"Sounds incestuous," said Morgana, wrinkling her nose. "Oh look, this is really _cute_!"

As they watched, Merlin grinned and said something brief, and the Assistant Director threw back his head and laughed.

"Don't use that word in front of Arthur," Gwen smiled. "If there's anything he hates, it's being called _cute_."

"Lovely," Morgana replied, gloatingly. "I'll refer to him as ' _our cute Assistant Director'_ in my next inter-office memo."

"You're terrible," said Gwen severely, standing up. "Last call for the grill. Will you deliver that steak to His Highness, or shall I?"

* * *

 

_There's some real dialogue here from cast banter in the DVD "Behind the Scenes" extras, from the first series/season of **Merlin**._


	10. Packing, and the Perils of Publicity

"Don't forget to bring your Ray-Bans," Merlin said. He was balanced on the arm of a large, upholstered chair, watching Arthur create piles of clothing, road maps, and papers on the bed, next to his large suitcase and smaller carry-on bag. An impressive mountain of discarded, folded shirts lay on the floor.

"Why is it you think I'm so attached to them?" Arthur inquired peevishly, hunting in one pile for his spare shaving kit.

"You think they make you look like a film star," replied his irrepressible conservator. "I've seen you admiring yourself in the mirror when you have them on."

Arthur hurled a knotted-together pair of socks in his direction. Merlin raised one hand, successfully batted them away, and fell off of the chair arm with a muffled squawk.

"Serve you right," said Arthur, abandoning the packing and strolling over to the chair to hoist Merlin to his feet. "How'd you manage to find all that dust?"

" _Someone_ must have swept it under the chair," Merlin answered. "Instead of throwing it away."

"Well, don't look at _me_ ," Arthur said loftily, before he sneezed. His allergies had diminished, but his sinuses were still sensitive. "I never sweep if I can help it. That's what I hire Ellie for."

Ellie was the cleaning lady who came in twice a week, hoovered and mopped the floors, tidied up after Arthur (who tended to throw his clothes onto the carpet and forget about them), and kept the kitchen and bathroom spotless and sparkling.

"Ellie's very conscientious," Merlin muttered, coughing a little and brushing away the last of the dust. "She wouldn't sweep things under the chair. This is definitely Arthur dust."

Arthur gave him a warning look. He had been brushing dust off Merlin's tee shirt, an aged garment emblazoned on the front with a faded image of Eric Clapton. He continued brushing, although there was really no more dust, running the tips of his fingers down over Merlin's very flat stomach.

"No," said Merlin, trying to back away, which wasn't easy since Arthur had just fisted his hand in the worn cotton fabric.

"Sorry...didn't hear that," Arthur almost whispered as he took a step closer. Easily trapping Merlin against the wall, he released Eric Clapton and slid both hands beneath the shirt. Merlin's head fell back automatically and he gave a little sigh as Arthur's lips brushed his cheekbones.

"Arthur...don't you think, erm, that we've been having, erm, an...an _inordinate_ amount of sex these past few...these past few..."

"Weeks," said Arthur, closing his eyes as he felt the silky sweep of Merlin's black eyelashes against his mouth. "Inordinate? That's a big word, _Mer_ lin." Somehow or other they were now on the floor, partly cushioned by the collapsed mountain of discarded shirts.

"This is really, I mean," insisted Merlin a little incoherently. "I mean it's not. Usual. I mean."

"No," agreed Arthur, gently tugging at Merlin's jeans. "But I don't want it to stop, do you?"

"No, but," Merlin protested. "I'm not going to do it on the floor, like a teenager. When there's a perfectly good bed just over there."

"There's too much _stuff_ on the bed," Arthur murmured. "Just once won't do any harm."

"But it's never just once," exclaimed Merlin, pulling Arthur's shirt over his head. "Maybe you should have your testosterone level examined."

"Idiot," said Arthur happily, tossing the shirt across the room.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Arthur," Merlin said. "This is _weird_!"

"Mmmmph," the Assistant Director responded, eyes closed. "We're a pair of weirdos, then."

Finding no logical response to make to this, Merlin subsided, running his lips absently along Arthur's hipbone.

Moments later, the telephone rang shrilly, startling them both out of their drowsy, contented state. Arthur fumbled for the phone, which had fallen onto the floor at some point during their proceedings, and then sneezed into the receiver.

"Oh...Morgana," he said, sniffling and hunting for tissues. "What is it _now_?"

There was a high-pitched babble from the receiver, and Arthur held it several inches away from his ear as he watched Merlin struggle back into his clothes.

"What was that about?" Merlin asked, wrestling with his tee shirt, which had caught on one of his ears. Arthur set the phone down and gave a histrionic sigh.

"Morgana's throwing Gwen a bridal shower," he explained, helping to unhook the tee shirt and pull it down over his conservator's slender, milky torso. "Not that it matters to us. It's ladies only, and we'll be away when it happens. Of course we'll be back in time for the wedding."

"We can buy a wedding present in London, I suppose," said Merlin, glancing over at his own suitcase, which was closed and standing upright next to the door. "And just pray that it fits in the luggage."

"Are you actually packed already?" Arthur exploded, staring. "And everything fit in there? I hope you're not bringing that disastrous brown jacket. It's practically worn to a shred." Pushing his hair off his forehead, he yawned and stretched.

Merlin surveyed the wreck of the bedroom floor and rolled his eyes. "Like a couple of teenagers," he mumbled.

Arthur reached over and ruffled his hair affectionately. "It wasn't all _that_ long ago that you were a teenager," he said helpfully before getting to his feet and fishing his clothing out of the heap on the floor.

"And you're not all _that_ much older than I am," Merlin replied crossly, but Arthur was already through the door and halfway down the hall.

"I'm going to make us drinks and check emails," he called before disappearing into the study. "I'll just leave you to tidy up."

"Prat," muttered Merlin, reaching for the closest of the rumpled shirts.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

It was less than a week until their departure, and, miraculously, they managed to go for almost three days without having any sex at all. Merlin said they should be saving their strength for the ordeal of staying with Uther. Arthur, on the other hand, said that they should be having nonstop sex to make up for what they wouldn't be able to do overseas.

On the night of their second day of abstinence, they and several other Institute staffers attended a cocktail party to which members of the press had been invited. It had been a busy day, a host of technicians had finally arrived to put the finishing touches to a new alarm system, and Gaius and Merlin had been asked by the Assistant Director to round up all of the condition reports generated by the Conservation Department within the past year. Morgana thought some of them might be in her office files, so she was promptly roped into the project as well.

The cocktail party was held in the enormous flat belonging to one of the museum's trustees, and as usual, there seemed to be a great deal of liquor on hand. Arthur chatted with several journalists, one of whom wrote the society column for a local newspaper, and carefully monitored his own alcohol intake. It never occurred to him that the representatives from the press might be drunker than anybody else.

This likelihood was made clear to him the following day, when Merlin bought several different newspapers - the evening editions - and brought them home for inspection. Arthur was alerted to something out of the ordinary by a series of muffled whoops coming from the bedroom. Entering, he found Merlin collapsed on the bed, stifling his roars of laughter in a pillow. When queried by his Assistant Director, he pointed in the direction of the open newspaper beside him, mopping tears from his streaming eyes.

"I knew that journalist was drunk!" he coughed, indicating the society column.

The brief article mentioned several recent events attended by local luminaries, and gushed, in the most purple prose, over the previous night's party and the guests who had been there.

_...among the notable attendees were the stupendously handsome and unfailingly charming museum director, Arnold Pentagon, and his ravishing curator stepsister, Morgana LeFay..._

Arthur looked at the printed page with disbelief.

"Augh!" gasped his junior conservator. Arthur cast a stern look at his unruly colleague, who was now cackling uncontrollably, his cheeks gone quite pink and the remnants of his tears quivering on the tips of his lashes.

"Merlin, stop it!" Arthur said severely.

"No way," Merlin replied in a confrontational voice, wiping his eyes, his shoulders shaking with little fits and starts of laughter. "You can't make me."

"Right," said Arthur resignedly, unfastening his jacket and yanking at his tie.

And that was the end of their short-lived celibacy.

The next morning, shortly before eleven, Arthur strode into Morgana's office, where he found his stepsister and Merlin poring over piles of old notes and condition reports in a leisurely fashion.

"Excuse me," he said between his teeth. "I think I did say I needed those reports before ten o'clock this morning."

Two pale faces crowned with dark hair were lifted to his.

"My, my," said Merlin. "Arnold Pentagon, I presume."

Morgana lowered her head but Arthur could hear her giggling.

Arthur gave Merlin a sharp look that promised payback later in the day. At the very latest, sometime after dinner.

"I don't know which of you is more impossible," he said, holding out his hand for the condition reports.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Perhaps because of the Assistant Director's impending absence, the week's staff meeting was unusually entertaining and relaxed. Morgana regaled the room with a reading of the infamous newspaper article. Leon described some of the more amusing antics of visitors to the museum, and assured everybody that it was _definitely not true_ ("I don't know who makes these things up!") that a high school senior had been caught giving a bl…having oral sex with her boyfriend behind the twelfth-century altar in Gallery Two. Arthur quickly ran over the most recent attendance figures and the cost of the new alarm system, and Gaius briefly reviewed his department's progress in their treatment of Lord Moldywart.

"As this is the last staff meeting before my very brief vacation," Arthur said, "I suppose we should get as many issues dealt with as possible. What was that about the new items in the Gift Shop?"

"Oh," replied Morgana, smiling. "According to Edwin, those little toy knights in the children's section might be a problem. See, here's one, I thought we might have a look at it if we ran out of _serious_ things to discuss. Apparently they're terribly flammable, and some parents have complained."

"Really?" Arthur snapped, eyeing the plastic figurine. "Why were their children exposing their toys to fire in the first place?"

Morgana shrugged. "Perhaps they were pretending to be genuine medieval executioners. Or maybe they were just smoking pot."

"Oh really, Morgana!" Gwen interjected. "Those toys were designed for eight-year-olds."

"Eight-year-old potheads," said Morgana, airily.

"The details are quite accurate," Lance murmured, holding the miniature, black-clad knight up to the light and staring at it. "No wonder little boys like them. Wait, what are you _doing_ , Merlin?" Merlin had snatched the plastic knight out of his hand.

"Only one way to test it," replied the junior conservator. He set a metal dish on an end table, and deposited the figurine in its center. The rest of the room looked on as he produced a book of matches.

"Merlin," said Arthur, surprised. "What are you doing, exactly?"

"Setting him on fire," was the casual response as Merlin fumbled with the matches.

"What!" Arthur asked, although he made no attempt to stop him.

"He's gonna burn," Merlin announced, straight-faced, before striking a match and applying it to the plastic knight. A jet of flame shot upward and faded seconds later, leaving the figure still standing.

"There!" said Lance with satisfaction. "It is _not_ highly flammable. I don't know what those parents were yammering about."

"Well," Morgana smiled, fishing the singed knight out of the dish. "We'll just tell Edwin he can order another case of these, shall we?"

"Fine," muttered the Assistant Director, looking at his watch. "That little display of pyrotechnics has made me hungry. I'm dying for a nice, juicy beefburger, crispy on the outside."

"That's disgusting," said Merlin disdainfully, grimacing. "A roasted knight makes you feel hungry?"

"It makes _me_ feel hungry," said Gaius, clapping his young associate on the shoulder. "Not everybody can live off water, juice, and raw or cooked veg. Let's all go to Hengist's Grill for lunch, shall we? We can buy Merlin a salad when we get there."


	11. Merlin Thinks Things Over

"Mordred sent me an email this morning," Merlin said.

They were waiting to board their flight, watching the milling crowds and general bustle of Kennedy Airport. As they waited for their section of the airplane to be called, they double checked their tickets and passports, and looked to make certain their hand luggage was properly zipped and fastened. They were flying Business Class, a compromise of sorts, since Arthur refused to sit in the cramped quarters of Coach, and Merlin insisted that First Class was a waste of money.

"He sent me one last night," Arthur mumbled, rubbing his eyes. "Said he hoped we had a pleasant time in Ealdor, and that he was looking forward to seeing us. He mentioned his secret present again, but wouldn't tell me what it is. Damn it all to hell! I forgot to pack the choc bars!"

"I packed them," Merlin replied in a self-congratulatory voice. If they had been alone, Arthur would have swatted him over the head.

Merlin had checked, repacked, and rechecked his luggage the night before, being uncharacteristically thorough and going over everything as carefully as he would have if he were examining a medieval manuscript or wall painting for damage. He had squirreled away his gifts for his mother in his carry-on, tested the straps of his suitcase, re-read the airline regulations and looked to see that there were no bottles of anything larger than 3.4 ounces. It seemed as though he had fiddled about with these things for ages, and all the while Arthur had been sitting up in bed, becoming increasingly impatient as he waited for Merlin to _bloody well finish up already_ , so that they could...because they wouldn't be...

And when Merlin had finally slid between the sheets, grumbling about how they would have to have an early breakfast, Arthur seized him with such vehemence that Merlin was almost taken aback. A half hour later, still trembling a little, he opened his mouth to ask why Arthur was in such a state, but Arthur had kissed him, and his hands had gentled him, so that he hadn't said anything at all.

"Seats twenty-two A through twenty-five F may board now," boomed a female voice over the sound system, and the group of passengers around them surged forward. Once past the perpetually-smiling trio of ticket checkers and flight attendants, they walked down the passageway and entered the plane, found their way to their seats, and stowed their carry-on bags in the overhead compartments.

Arthur had appropriated the window seat and was staring out of the window at the tarmac, but Merlin was perfectly happy to sit on the aisle. Catching a glimpse of the Assistant Director's grim expression, he thought some inane chatter on his part might be in order, but could think of nothing to say other than: "D'you suppose Uther will have sent spies to Ealdor to scout out what we're up to during our stay?"

"Don't be ri _dic_ ulous, _Mer_ lin," Arthur said almost automatically, although he turned his head and grinned. "I didn't even tell him where we're going to be, before London."

Oddly enough, Merlin's dread of Uther and time spent in Uther's residence had faded, with the prospect of introducing Arthur to his mother and to Ealdor on the horizon. He had not gone into any detail when telling his mother about this trip; he had simply told her that he and Arthur Pendragon would be visiting for several days, and she had asked no questions. Perhaps she had already spoken with Gaius? It wasn't as though he expected Hunith to object to Arthur, or even to the nature of their relationship. She might be surprised - the last time she had seen him in a romantic situation with somebody it had been with Freya, his university girlfriend - but it was unlikely that she would disapprove in any way. In fact, he was certain that she would be happy for him, as long as he himself was happy. And he was fairly sure that she would be charmed with Arthur.

Merlin had always been a bit of an outsider in Ealdor, to which his mother had moved them days before he turned thirteen. (Why she had chosen to leave Northern Ireland she had never told him.) Nobody had treated him badly - apart from a few bullies at school, and Will had helped to end that situation - but nobody (apart from Will) had completely accepted him either. He had been too different from the other boys, thin, gawky, reserved, but clever with his hands, able to fix almost anything that broke, able to draw like Rembrandt at an early age. A reader, one of the only boys who spent hours in the local library. Odd. Unusual. There had been moments of loneliness, but on the whole he had a fondness for the place - for its nearby meadows and streams, its pretty country setting - and had enjoyed the holidays he spent there during his university years. He was looking forward to seeing it, was wondering what it would feel like to be there again, but this time not alone.

He had given the matter some attention only last night, his head pillowed on Arthur's shoulder, one hand on his chest, one leg flung over Arthur's thigh. Arthur was asleep; lately he had been falling asleep almost immediately after love, but Merlin wanted to stay awake a little longer to go over the next few days in his mind, and to enjoy Arthur when he was like this: not autocratic, not sardonic, not restless with energy, but calm and peaceful, and so beautiful to look at. He could feel the solidity of Arthur's collarbone against his face, Arthur's soft breaths lifting and fluttering the short, spiky layers of fringe above his brow.

How astonishing that he had ended up falling in love with Arthur Pendragon. The prat whose seeming sense of entitlement and outwardly arrogant air had so annoyed him when he he first came to work at the Institute. The handsome Assistant Director, worthy son of the even more famously autocratic Uther Pendragon, whose peremptory manner of ordering Merlin about had led to some of the most spectacular and loud arguments that the rest of the Institute staff had ever witnessed. What had finally drawn Merlin to him was the humanity, the essential kindness, the well-hidden feelings of inadequacy he had detected beneath the proud and aristocratic surface. He had sensed, as well, the emotional hesitancy of a young man who had grown up without the warmth and softness of a mother's touch. Arthur was (naturally) well known for his good looks, and within museum circles his bisexuality was fairly common knowledge, but it had been a while before Merlin had given that particular aspect of the Assistant Director any thought.

Merlin had never given much thought to his own sexuality either, in the years before he flew from London to New York to join the staff of the Pendragon Institute. His few relationships - all with young women - had been mostly with fellow students, relationships based as much on shared interests and shared studies as on emotional and physical need. His romance with Freya had been the longest of those, and they remained friends, still communicating periodically via email. From the first, he had admired Arthur's beauty (quite objectively) but had not been aware, at least consciously, of any attraction to him at all, until the business trip to Santa Barbara, California, that had resulted in their first intimate encounter. In the moments before they had lain down together Merlin had vacillated between desire and panic, but the touch of Arthur's hand, firm but gentle and confident, had been a revelation. There had been no turning back after that.

"No turning back now," muttered Arthur when the plane begn to move, almost as though he had read Merlin's mind.

"Right," said Merlin, eyes on the runway.

"I'd better have the car lease agreement ready," Arthur added, going through his pockets. "Oh, bloody...I packed it in the carry-on!"

"Don't lose your temper," Merlin said in what was meant to be a placating manner. "You'll have plenty of time to fish it out whilst we're standing on line for customs. Stop gnashing your pointy teeth, and calm down."

"I do not gnash my teeth," replied Arthur levelly. "So what did Mordred say in his email to you?"

Merlin shrugged a little and smiled. "Nothing new. Wants to talk about the latest conservation techniques, and whether he can learn how to do thermoluminescence testing, at his age."

What he didn't repeat was Mordred's final statement: _I hope you can stay part of the family, Merlin._

_xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx_

Less than an hour into the flight, Merlin dozed off and slept the sleep of the just and innocent until Arthur nudged him awake. A flight attendant was bending over them, demanding to know whether they wanted beef or pasta for their meal.

The rest of the flight was completely uneventful. Arthur read the newspaper, drowsed for an hour, and then sat up and scribbled notes in his daily planner. Merlin paged through a magazine, watched the first half hour of the in-flight movie without using the headphones, and then amused himself by making up composite titles for future action films: "Harry Potter and the Temple of Doom," "Harry and Draco Go to White Castle,"* "Indiana Jones and the One Ring," "Kirk and Spock Meet Master and Commander," and "Rocky Loves Rambo."

De-planing was the usual hassle, with the rush of passengers to retrieve bags from the overhead bins, whilst others, in a rush to catch connecting flights, stampeded down the aisle like a herd of angry cows (or at least, that was how Arthur described them). Once through customs, luggage claimed, Arthur located their rented car and fiddled with the keys whilst Merlin hurled their suitcases into the boot.

"For pity's sake!" Arthur remonstrated. "Be careful, won't you? I have breakable things in there!"

Arthur drove well and confidently, in keeping with the way he did most things that involved hand-eye coordination. Merlin was in charge of the road map, and he found, to his grave embarrassment, that he had to keep turning his eyes away from Arthur's hands, where they gripped the steering wheel.

"Don't look so anxious, Merlin," Arthur sighed after navigating and finally escaping the dense traffic around the airport, and easing their car onto the motorway. "I'm sure the Institute will survive a couple of weeks without us."

"Do you think?" Merlin replied, smiling. "Will said we wouldn't recognize the place when we got back. And what will all of those poor little schoolgirls do, the ones who come to the Institute to take notes for their art history classes, but are really there to catch a glimpse of the fabled Mr Pendragon?"

"They won't miss a thing," Arthur stated flatly. "They can look at Lance instead. I mean, he's ridiculously good looking, and quite puts me in the shade."

"That's a matter of opinion," his conservator murmured, turning faintly pink along the cheekbones. "I imagine half the girls of Ealdor will be lined up at your bedroom door tomorrow night."

"Really?" asked Arthur, entertained by the thought. "Only half? Where will the other half be?"

"Well, they won't be at _my_ door," Merlin said adamantly. "They'll be: 'Oh look, it's that Merlin with the funny ears, back from the States, oh, and look at who he's brought with him, some gorgeous blond bloke who looks like he could take on every single one of us and still have energy for more, and oh, did you know he's the son of U-'"

"That'll do, _Mer_ lin, I need you to watch for the exit," growled Arthur sternly, but his lips were twitching. "By the way, what was it you had to pay Ellie extra for, this morning? I left instructions about everything, and she'll clean once a week while we're away, and throw out whatever's left in the refrigerator."

"I was paying her for sewing buttons back on my shirts," Merlin replied affably. "She offered to do it for free, but I said no, of course not. She's been puzzled about all the buttons she keeps picking up off the floor, and I couldn't exactly explain to her how they got there in the first place."

"No?" Arthur asked, eyes on the road.

"No," said Merlin decidedly. "I could hardly say, 'Well, Ellie, you see, your employer, Mr Pendragon, is so impatient to get his hands on my...erm, on me that he can't be bothered with a few buttons.'"

"I'm impatient?" Arthur was tapping his fingers on the wheel.

"Patience isn't one of your virtues, exactly," said Merlin, and then realized that he should have kept his mouth shut. Arthur's eyes were suddenly sparkling with deviltry, and he was grinning widely. If there was anything Arthur could not resist it was a challenge, and Merlin had just offered him one.

"Oh?" murmured Arthur, his voice as smooth as cream. "Is that so, _Mer_ -lin? Wait until we have a little time alone together, with no interruptions, and we'll see whether patience is one of my virtues or not."

Merlin swallowed and then looked at the road map. "It's the next exit," he announced, glad for a change of subject, because Arthur's expression was becoming positively smug. "After that, you drive straight for an hour. If you're not too tired, we can make it to Ealdor in time for dinner."

* * *

**I don't know whether the comedy film, "Harold and Kumar Go to White Castle," made it overseas, but it was very popular in the States. For those not familiar with American fast food, White Castle is a chain of very inexpensive burger restaurants, famous for their small, square burger patties cooked with chopped onion.**


	12. Ealdor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I must apologize. I submitted Chapter 13 for Chapter 12, so I've erased it (temporarily) and have inserted the proper Chapter 12 in its proper place. Sorry!

"I told you it was a small town," Merlin said when he saw Arthur's raised eyebrows.

Being fully aware of Arthur's general stamina (and having experienced it first hand), Merlin was not surprised to see that after a drive of more than three and one half hours, he was still wide awake, calm, and relaxed. The car rolled to a stop in front of Merlin's old home - yes, it did look smaller than he remembered - and Merlin had barely stepped out of the passenger seat when the door was flung open and Hunith came outside.

"Oh, Merlin!" burst from her lips, and she flung her arms around his neck. Merlin hugged back, a little embarrassed, but happy beyond measure to see her again, still strong and upright, still brown-haired, still bright-eyed and rather pretty.

"Let me look at you!" She cupped his face in her hands for a moment, and then stood back, eyes shining with pleasure and with tears. "You've got a bit thinner."

"Erm," said Merlin, because this was exactly what Arthur had told him she would say.

"How was your flight?" Hunith was still looking him over, noting the shorter, spikier haircut, the well-cut jacket. Her eyes strayed to the signet ring on his right hand, and widened perceptibly.

"Heathrow was chaos, Kennedy was worse," her son replied, glancing over at Arthur. The Institute's Assistant Director was now leaning against the car, wearing his Ray-Bans and smiling, deliberately keeping his distance until Merlin should be ready to introduce him.

"I, erm, don't believe you've ever met Arthur Pendragon," Merlin began, instantly feeling stupid because of course his mother had never met him. "From the...the Pendragon Institute..."

His voice trailed off, but Arthur was stepping forward, pulling off his Ray-Bans, one hand held out. Hunith smiled a little self-consciously and shook hands, her expression one of mingled nervousness and admiration. Merlin stood mute as they murmured polite how-do-you-dos, and Hunith hoped Arthur hadn't had difficulty with the roads, and apologized in advance for the condition of her sitting room.

Once inside, she went to fetch tea from the kitchen and Arthur made himself comfortable in the largest armchair. Merlin prowled about the room, looking as anxious as a cat in a strange house, inspecting photographs on the mantlepiece, books on the bookshelf, and anything that looked unfamiliar or out of place.

Over the next hour, he managed to stop feeling like such an _idiot_ , relax enough to laugh and joke with his mother, cut slices of fruitcake without knocking anything over, and howl with outrage when she offered to show Arthur her photo albums of old Merlin pictures. ("No, no, no!" he shouted, crimson to the ears. "Tomorrow, then," Arthur said, grinning evilly in his direction.) They talked about the Institute, Gaius ("The dearest, kindest man!" Hunith said enthusiastically), the work Merlin was doing in the Conservation Department, and the planned visit to London, but they mentioned neither Merlin's presence in Arthur's New York flat, nor the Pendragon signet ring on Merlin's finger. Arthur was charming to Hunith, and extremely courteous, even deferential ("I can't believe you, I must be hallucinating," Merlin said to Arthur when she left the room to fetch more milk for the tea), and by the time Merlin suggested that they take their bags over to the inn, it was plain that she quite liked him and enjoyed his company. They agreed to meet the next morning, after breakfast, and when Arthur produced a large, wrapped box of chocolates she exclaimed with pleasure and thanked him with genuine warmth.

Arthur asked for a quick look at Hunith's garden and admired her tidy flowerbeds, trellised vines, and espaliered pear trees, whilst Hunith and Merlin stood in the doorway and watched him.

"These are splendid," Arthur murmured at the sight of Hunith's prize-winning yellow roses.

Merlin felt his mother squeeze his hand.

"He's lovely, Merlin," she said under her breath, but there was no time for confidences as Arthur turned and walked back to them.

"I'm sure you'll want some time together without me," Arthur said before they took their leave, and Merlin managed to refrain from rolling his eyes. Arthur then suggested that Hunith have dinner with them, but she insisted that they must be exhausted, and promised to join them the following evening.

She hugged Merlin again before they climbed back into the car, pressed her lips against his cheek, and squeezed his hand for a second time. He could feel her tracing the dragon rampant on the signet ring, with her finger.

It took less than five minutes to drive to the inn, where they checked in, and then unloaded their bags under the eyes of a few locals who stared first at Merlin (with a slowly dawning recognition) and then at Arthur. As Merlin had insisted that everybody in town was an inveterate gossip, they had booked separate rooms, which turned out to be just as well, since there were quite a few other visitors in residence and the rooms were all rather close together.

"Dinner in fifteen minutes," said Arthur, and disappeared into his room. In his own little chamber, cozy and decorated in a vaguely English country-cottage style, Merlin flung down his luggage, unpacked what he would need for the next day, and collapsed into a comfortable, over-stuffed chair. Moments later, Arthur knocked on the door and sauntered in.

"This place is perfectly comfortable," he announced as Merlin struggled out of the billowing cushions. "And the restaurant looks promising. So much for all of your rubbish about how I wouldn't like it here."

"I am _not_ going to let you see those photo albums," Merlin muttered, and Arthur grinned even more evilly than he had before.

They went downstairs and nodded to the proprietor and his wife. The daughter, a nubile redhead with spectacular frontal assets, eyed Arthur from behind the front desk.

"What did I tell you?" whispered Merlin. "She'll be texting all her friends now, and the queue should be forming on the right by the time we get back."

"Shut _up_!" Arthur hissed in reply.

In the little restaurant attached to the inn, Arthur ate something resembling shepherd's pie, which was extremely tasty, and Merlin cautiously consumed roasted vegetables. After pudding, which looked like a confused cross between strawberry shortcake and trifle (but tasted very nice), they went for a stroll down the main street, at the end of which Merlin pointed out the bridge he used to stand on and watch the river, on his way home from school.

They stood on the bridge, peaceably saying nothing, their eyes flickering from the water to each other.

"Your old neighbors are quite civilized, _Mer_ lin," Arthur commented as they made their way back from the bridge to the inn. They passed several people, all of whom smiled and nodded at them pleasantly. "I don't know what you've been complaining about."

"I never said they weren't civilized," Merlin retorted. "What were you expecting? Village half-wits loitering in the square, drooling all over, and people coming up to you and saying, 'What do 'ee want wi' me and mine'? Or, 'My soul, have 'ee iver seen the like? Our Merlin walkin wi' the likes of Arthur Pendragon. 'Tes flyin in the face of Nature.' Anyway, I wasn't really _complaining_."

Arthur laughed until he coughed.

"I think I'll stop into the local Historical Society tomorrow," he said when he could speak properly. "That'll give you some time alone with your mum. What time's breakfast?"

"From seven to eight thirty, I think," Merlin replied, wondering what the director of the Historical Society (his sixth form history teacher, if he remembered correctly) would make of Arthur. "The inn's full, all of the rooms are taken, so they're extending the breakfast period by half an hour."

"Fine," said Arthur, his mind now dwelling on Merlin's mother, and her absent former husband. What had he been like? Hunith was still an attractive woman, but it was not from her that Merlin had gotten his dark hair and ivory skin, his angular, oddly arresting beauty.

At the door to Merlin's bedroom they faced each other a little sheepishly.

"I realize," Arthur whispered, "that, under the circumstances, I probably shouldn't share your little room with you tonight."

"Quite right, I agree," Merlin whispered back with a half smile. In the silvery moonlight from the nearby window, he looked almost ethereal, otherworldly, fragile; that bony face looked almost exquisite. If this had been a few hundred years ago, and if Arthur were superstitious, he might have thought to himself, "Changeling."

"I agree, under the circumstances." Merlin was whispering. "That is, you've been known to be rather loud at...at times."

"What!" Arthur said, forgetting to whisper. "I? I think 'we' would be the more accurate word, all things considered. But I haven't forgotten your challenge, _Mer_ lin, and I mean to prove to you that you're mistaken."

"Oh," said Merlin, shivering as Arthur's fingers lightly stroked the nape of his neck. Casting a furtive glance along the hallway, to make certain nobody else was about, he slid one arm around Arthur's waist and raised his face. Arthur pulled him closer and kissed him thoroughly and almost forcefully, tongue probing, until Merlin felt his knees starting to buckle. He bit down lightly on Arthur's upper lip, and felt him quiver in his turn.

Then he pulled away abruptly, and opened his door.

"Goodnight, Arthur," he murmured, shooting one look at him from beneath his lashes.

"Bloody tease," said Arthur, grimacing, glad for the dimness of the hall which made his aroused state almost undetectable.

A sleepy looking elderly couple appeared at the top of the stairs, shambling toward one of the rooms, and Merlin's door shut with a gentle click.

Safely in his own room, sprawled on top of the featherbed and waiting for his blood to cool, Arthur sent Merlin a text message:

_Busy thinking up punishments 4 u just u wait & c. sleep well. A_


	13. A Round Peg in a Square Hole

Arthur Pendragon was an urbanite, a city man, and when he was awakened by the twittering of birds and the shrieking of a very large, very agitated crow outside of his window, it took him a moment to adjust to things, and to remember precisely where he was.

Once washed and dressed, he stalked down the hall to Merlin's room, tantalized by the scent of frying sausages and eggs wafting up the stairs. To his surprise, the door to Merlin's bedroom was unlocked; he entered and stood looking down at his sleeping junior conservator.

Merlin was curled up in a tangled mess of sheets and blankets, his hair every which way, full, pink lips just slightly parted, his breath purring through them like a kitten's. This was almost too endearing a sight to be borne, and Arthur had to fight against the desire to climb into the warm and downy bed, gather that thin, almost delicate body into his arms, and caress Merlin into wakefulness. But such actions obviously might lead to other things, so he put one hand on Merlin's shoulder instead, and shook him lightly.

"Murfff," said Merlin into the bedclothes, opening one eye and then closing it again.

"Time for breakfast, you idiot," snapped Arthur almost sharply, because he _really wanted to climb into that bed_. "Get up, or I'll make you get up."

Sighing, Merlin sat up and swung his legs out of the bed. "Breakfast," he mumbled, rubbing his eyes with his knuckles, like a child.

"I can smell the sausages," Arthur said, more gently. "So please get dressed, before I faint from hunger."

"I don't eat sausages," Merlin replied, looking annoyed, but he stood up obediently and looked around for his clothes. Arthur handed them to him, and then stood looking at the ceiling as Merlin pulled off the white tee shirt he had slept in, and fumbled into his jeans.

"Did you sleep well?" Merlin asked, yawning and then looking sidelong at Arthur with a mischievous smile. "I read your text."

"I slept beautifully, you...you..." growled Arthur. "But there's a hideous bird outside my window. Do you realize," he added, eyes still averted from Merlin's semi-nakedness, "that you left your door unlocked last night?"

"Did I really?" Merlin answered drowsily. "Perhaps I was subconsciously hoping that some of the local girls would visit me after they'd finished with you."

"Over my dead body," Arthur snorted. "After they finished with me, I told them to stay away from you if they knew what was good for them. You're _mine_. I don't think they could have done much to you anyway, they were all quite exhausted after I'd had my way with them, _twice_ , and-"

"Good lord," Merlin said, now fully clothed and looking slightly more awake. "We're maligning half of the female population of Ealdor. Good job we're only joking. All right, give me five minutes to wash my face, and so on, and I'll join you for breakfast."

"Right," said Arthur. "Are you really going to waltz about your village dressed like that?" With one hand he indicated Merlin's jeans and brown tee shirt.

"Yes," replied Merlin unapologetically. "Five minutes, and I'm with you." Grabbing his shaving kit, he vanished into the bathroom.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

After downing a very eggy, hammy breakfast, along with sausages and toast, Arthur announced that he would take a stroll and then look into the Historical Society. Then he remembered that he had promised to visit Hunith right after breakfast, but Merlin assured him that she would be just as happy to see him after lunch. Having given Arthur directions to the Society, he watched as his Assistant Director set off with his digital camera and hand-drawn (by Merlin) map of the immediate area. In an effort to avoid looking like a tourist, Arthur had dressed in jeans and a green football jersey, but Merlin didn't think this was going to fool anybody.

"That's a pretty patch of woods, just over there," Arthur said before leaving, pointing to a copse in the distance. "I suppose that in the old days there was good hunting in this countryside."

"I suppose," Merlin responded diffidently. "And I _suppose_ if this were the old days, you'd be leading the pack with your hounds and your crossbow."

"Ha ha," muttered Arthur, looking his conservator up and down. "What would be the use? You'd come crashing through the trees like a great imbecile, falling over bushes, making a din and scaring away all the game."

"There was a legend about this part of the country," Merlin said, completely ignoring the insult. "From hundreds of years ago, naturally. People used to think a unicorn lived here. Funny, isn't it?"

"Did they send all of the village virgins out to try and catch it?" Arthur asked, one eyebrow raised.

"How should I know?" Merlin answered, shrugging. "All I know is _I've_ never seen one."

"You may _look_ virginal, _Mer_ lin," Arthur said smugly. "But I have reason to know better."

Merlin watched Arthur's progress down the street, privately thinking that there was no way anyone was going to mistake him for a local. The unconsciously arrogant stride, the expensive Italian loafers, the Armani jeans, and of course those bloody Ray-Bans. Two young women, chatting outside a nearby house, turned their heads to watch him as he went past.

The roses dangling from the trellis near Hunith's door wafted their sweet scent across the path as Merlin approached. His mother must have been watching for him, because she had the door open before he could knock, and she was beaming just as happily as she had been the previous evening. Perhaps even more so, now that she had him all to herself.

"You're definitely thinner," she murmured, once she had got him inside, ensconced on the sofa with a mug of coffee in his hand. "Now, where's Mr Pendragon this morning?"

"Call him Arthur, he asked you to. He was going to come here with me, but I sent him off on his own. He's gone to the Historical Society; he wanted to see it. Everybody's been staring at him in the street, I'm afraid. I don't know that he's noticed, but he's a bit out of place here. You know, a square peg in a round hole."

"He's very handsome."

"Yeah, well..."

"You look well, darling...New York life agrees with you, then?"

"I like it," Merlin said simply.

"And your job?"

"I like that as well. And Gaius says that I'm good at what I do."

"I keep thinking about what happened this past winter. At that museum, the...the Metropolitan, wasn't it? That horrible man..."

"It was okay, Mum, I promise. The doctors said I was fine. Now what about you? Did your roses take first prize at the last fair? And, and how have you been otherwise?"

It was blatantly obvious that Merlin was edging around the subject they both needed to discuss, but Hunith decided not to push him. Instead, she launched into an account of recent doings of the local populace, making him laugh with her recitation of the best of the current gossip.

"The town committee for the restoration of local monuments has been busy," she said comfortably after a while, reaching for her teacup. "There were some arguments about the old mill, and whether it was worth keeping it intact. I had a few run-ins with Kanan; he's always been an arguer, and we even had a shouting match in the middle of the green. But it's all settled, and he apologized, and we get on quite well now, in fact..."

Merlin had been chuckling at the thought of Hunith in a shouting match with Kanan, a former roisterer and troublemaker turned serious craftsman. The fellow produced beautifully designed iron gates, complete with elegant scrollwork, and similar functional objects, but for all that he had become quite respectable, he was still known for his fiery temper. Not that he would ever be able to get the better of Hunith! Then Merlin noticed that his self-possessed and practical mother, far from looking put out, was actually blushing.

"Mum, you're not going to tell me that you, that you and Kanan...you're not, erm, _going out_...?"

"Oh Merlin! Not exactly. We...we're good friends, that's all, and we have tea at the inn every Friday."

"At the _inn_!" Merlin bellowed, nearly knocking over his mug.

"You silly boy! In the restaurant."

"Well!" said Merlin, feigning indignation but grinning. "Just look at what happens when I'm not around to keep an eye on you."

"I could say the same," his mother countered, putting her hand on his shoulder. "But I think...you seem...well, what I'm trying to say is, I like your Mr Pendragon."

"He's not exactly _my_ Mr Pendragon," Merlin said, blushing in his turn. "I mean, he doesn't, erm, belong to me. We...we work very well together."

"I've been to the library, to read some of the, well, gossip in the American press," Hunith went on. "And when your mailing address changed, I wondered...and now I see that beautiful ring."

"Erm..."

"He's charming."

"He's a prat," Merlin suddenly blurted out. "But he's...underneath all that, he's..."

"I see," said Hunith, almost dryly. "And you and he...you're sharing a flat?"

"It's Arthur's flat, actually," said Merlin, pink with embarrassment.

Hunith touched Merlin's cheek gently.

"He seems to care about you," she said quietly. "I know he looked after you when the hospital discharged you. He certainly l-likes you."

"That's because he doesn't know me," replied Merlin jokingly.

"Well, if you're living together, I imagine he knows you fairly well by now," his mother said tartly. "And you, darling, do you...are you...?"

"Yeah, erm, I am," her son mumbled, and this time he did knock over his mug.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

By the time Arthur materialized, a handbook from the Historical Society under one arm, it was just before noon, and the dreaded photograph albums were piled next to Hunith's sofa.

"I can't believe you're going to look at those," Merlin said to Arthur.

"I can't believe you're going to show him those," he said to his mother.

"You can look at _mine_ when we're in London," Arthur said calmly. "If they don't turn your stomach, nothing will. Just imagine, myself and Morgana dressed up as sweet little Christmas angels with tinsel haloes and foil-covered wings."

Merlin made a feeble gesture of surrender and slouched glumly in one of the armchairs whilst Arthur slowly paged through the albums, pausing every few minutes to roar with laughter. Hunith looked on smiling, occasionally providing an anecdote to go with a picture, to the amusement of Arthur and the total dismay of her son.

"I think this is my favorite," Arthur said, after leafing through numerous images of a baby Merlin, dark hair sticking up in little points like a Japanese anime character, blue eyes huge, ears ditto. The obligatory baby-in-a-nappy photo had his eyes watering with mirth, but just now he was pointing to a snapshot taken at a long ago country fair, years before Ealdor. An eight year old Merlin stood imprisoned in a set of make-believe stocks, looking very much as though he had just been pelted with tomatoes and other squishy veg by a group of grinning schoolmates.

"How was the Historical Society?" Merlin remembered to ask, when the last of the albums had been thoroughly perused, and Arthur finally stopped chuckling.

"Interesting," replied Arthur, waving the handbook. "Oh, the director, Mr. Howard, asked to be remembered to you. He said you wrote the most interesting essays, and had the worst handwriting, of all the sixth form students he can remember."

"I can't wait to get to London and hear all about your embarrassing youthful pranks," Merlin said with gritted teeth.

"I've arranged for lunch at the Blue Ribbon, down the street," Hunith interrupted, poking Merlin to get him to stop glowering. "They're expecting us there between one and two. So if you're ready...?"


	14. Patience is a Virtue

Lunch at the Blue Ribbon, a charming pub just down the street, was extremely pleasant. A little brook ran just outside, and its gentle babble helped distract Merlin whilst his mother continued to relate Baby Merlin stories at the request of an attentive, grinning Arthur.

"Oh no, you don't," Arthur said as Merlin's eyes roamed toward the bar, where several farmers were ordering up pints of Guinness.

"I think need some, to help me deal with _this_ ," Merlin grumbled, but Arthur shook his head.

"You're quite right, Arthur," said Hunith, putting a final nail in the coffin. "Merlin never could hold his liquor."

"Liquor! It's only stout," Merlin began, but both of his companions stared at him disapprovingly. He wasn't certain why; after all, his alcohol intake was modest, he rarely got truly drunk, and he certainly wasn't going to get drunk on Guinness. Sighing, he simply gave up, wondering how, if at all, he could possibly get back at Arthur for this.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Do you do all of the gardening on your own?" Arthur asked, a while later, when they were back at Hunith's little house, sitting just outside in the garden. His eyes went to the neatly weeded flowerbeds, edged with brick, the espaliered pear trees, and then to the quince trees at the other end of the warm, green space. "It must be difficult without Merlin…or someone…to help you."

Merlin had gone down to the end of the garden to clear away some small branches and large twigs that had come down during the last rainstorm, over a week earlier.

"No, I manage nicely on my own," Hunith replied, placidly. "A young man from a gardener's agency comes every now and then to do the pruning, on the branches I can't reach. The rest isn't difficult, it simply takes time. Merlin used to help me with the vegetables, though, he's always been very good with his hands."

"He's doing excellent work in the Conservation Department," Arthur murmured. "Gaius says he's one of the best he's ever seen. Best conservators, that is. He's…he's been looking after things very nicely."

"Dear Gaius," said Hunith fondly. "I've spoken with him several times during the past year. He's kept me informed about Merlin's progress, since Merlin doesn't see fit to tell me much of anything."

Now seemed to be the right moment to get down to things. "Merlin's...perhaps Merlin told you?" Arthur began, as close to stammering as he had ever been. "He's...we're sharing my flat in New York. There's plenty of space, and..."

Hunith glanced at him musingly, and then looked away, but it was obvious that she was listening attentively.

"...and we...we get on very well. He's...I've never known anyone like him." That was true. He had many friends (or at least people who called themselves friends), he had had quite a few lovers, but never anybody like Merlin, who was friend and lover both, not to mention a professional colleague. Whose banter both frustrated and entertained him. Whose sharp intelligence seemed so at odds with his absent-minded, coltish awkwardness. Whose stubborness matched his own. Whose smiles - whether the charming, open grin he offered to the world, or the secret little curve of the lips he sometimes showed to Arthur - were like nobody else's. And ah! Merlin in his arms, whether beneath him or above him, that silky, creamy skin, and that remarkable touch!

They were watching Merlin walk across the bottom of the garden, partly hidden by rosebushes. There was a sudden thump, as he tripped over a fallen branch or errant root and disappeared with a muffled exclamation. A moment later, he was up and making his way along the uneven ground as though nothing had happened.

Arthur turned his head so that his eyes met Hunith's, and they both smiled.

"When Merlin was little," Hunith said pensively. "He was like that; forever tripping over furniture, knocking things over, so absent minded. But incredibly focused when it came to any project he was working on. In that regard, he was always careful and precise. Such clever hands; the way he could put things together. Like magic."

"He's like that now," Arthur replied. "It's remarkable, the...the contrast."

"Yes," she murmured. "When he was a child, and so bright, such uncanny intuition, but so clumsy...I was always there to watch him. When he grew up, grew away, went off to university, I worried. What if he knocks over one of his lecturers? What if he goes headfirst into the Cam? And then in London, at the Courtauld, and now in New York...Of course no mother wants to think that her child could be hurt."

"I won't let anything hurt him, Hunith," Arthur said, very low. "That is, I'll do my best."

Hunith looked at him, a long, clear look, and then she smiled again.

"I believe you mean it," she said, finally, and put one strong, capable hand lightly on his arm. "I expect you'll look after each other."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The three dined together in Hunith's kitchen, perhaps the roomiest chamber in her little house. She had made noises about setting the table in the tiny dining room, but Arthur said no, she mustn't stand on ceremony, he wouldn't have it. Merlin stood in the background, rolling his eyes.

The evening meal was simple: roasted chicken, potatoes, sliced cucumbers from the garden, and fruit salad. Arthur complimented Hunith on her cooking, and Merlin whispered to him that he was fortunate it hadn't been breakfast, because his mother's oatmeal porridge left a great deal to be desired.

They stood in front of the house for a several minutes, watching the sun go down, before Arthur and Merlin headed back to the inn. It was surprisingly cool and damp with the sunlight gone. Arthur had thrown a grey sweatshirt over his football jersey, and Merlin had rummaged in his old room and replaced his short-sleeved tee with a long-sleeved cotton shirt, complete with a proper collar, brick-red in color and buttoned down the front.

As they walked into the front hall, the proprietor's wife waved them down.

"A fax came for you, sir, while you were out," she announced, handing a sheaf of papers over to Arthur, her eyes bright with awe. The auburn-haired daughter was skulking behind the front desk again, her eyes darting avidly back and forth between the blond guest and the dark haired one, her right hand playing idly with the keypad on her mobile phone.

"You see?" Merlin said in a loud whisper. "She's notifying the troops."

"Shhhh!" was the reply as the girl continued to stare at them. She wasn't licking her lips, Merlin thought, but she might as well, from the hungry expression in her heavily mascara-ed eyes.

Arthur thanked the proprietress and held the pages of the fax under the closest lamp, to read them.

"What's that?" Merlin asked, trying to peer over his shoulder. "Can't see. It's very smudgy."

Arthur bumped his head against the glass lampshade and muttered something that sounded like "Bugrit."

"May the gods have mercy," he said, finally. "It's from Morgana. The Institute just received an email from Sigan, with a digital image of his tapestry."

They examined the image under the lamp. The tapestry was wide, with seven standing figures against a flat pattern of scattered flowers, a typical _mille-fleurs_ background. It was difficult to make out any details in the smudged and grainy fax, but the three central figures were obviously ladies, richly clad and bejeweled. The flanking figures appeared to be gentleman courtiers, and at least one seemed to be wearing armor.

"Very nice," said Merlin, squinting at the paper. "I'll have to talk to Gwen about this. Care to hazard a guess about the subject matter?"

"My guess is that the ladies are the Three Graces, or something along those lines," Arthur replied, wrinkling his brow. "Something mythological."

There was a rumbling sound behind them, and they turned to see a young woman wheeling her luggage to the front door, whilst a young man trailed behind her with a rucksack.

"Oh look," said Arthur pleasantly. "Most of the other guests are leaving."

"Erm," his conservator mumbled, watching as couples and families bundled belongings into their cars and settled their accounts at the front desk.

"Our hallway will be quite empty," Arthur went on, looking at his watch. "Shall we go upstairs?"

The hallway on the floor above was quiet, and most of the doors were partly open, revealing empty rooms, some with beds already stripped of their linen. "Good," said Arthur conversationally, and yanked Merlin into his bedroom without a word of warning.

"Arthur," Merlin managed to say as Arthur fastened the lock and turned to him. "What in blazes are you-"

"Your challenge, Merlin," Arthur murmured a few minutes later. "You told me patience wasn't one of my virtues, remember? Perhaps now's the time To…Prove…You…Wrong."

"What's…what are you…" said Merlin, astonished, but Arthur only chuckled darkly as he slowly unfastened the top button of Merlin's shirt. A minute later, he slowly unfastened the next one, and a minute after that the next, pausing in between to run his lips over the pale skin that was being revealed, bit by bit. It took a long time to unbutton the shirt completely, after which Arthur slowly slid it off Merlin's arms, dropped it to the floor, and got to work on the fastening of his jeans.

"You see," he whispered, kicking the shirt away. "Buttons still attached."

"I hate you," Merlin said nearly a half hour later, by which time he was lying flat on his back, with Arthur bending over him, but not applying his full weight, and they still hadn't... "You're really, really evil."

"No, I'm not," replied Arthur soothingly, rolling them over. "I'm simply patient. Very, very patient. And I can be more patient still." The tip of one finger stroked the sensitive skin on the inside of Merlin's elbow, light as a feather. Several minutes later, that same finger brushed the even more sensitive skin behind his knee, and on the inside of his thigh.

"You…you're unspeakable...unspeakably..." said Merlin, panting, when Arthur let him talk again, aghast to hear that the tone of his voice was beginning to sound very much like a whimper. He was nearly delirious by this time, but determined not to beg, no, no, not ever…

" _Mer_ lin," Arthur whispered urgently, fitting Merlin more closely against him, but his voice did not sound anything like a whimper, and although it was obvious that he was as impassioned and aroused as he had ever been, it was also clear that he had no intention of bringing things to a close just yet.

It was even _later_ , and Merlin had lost nearly all of his reserves of willpower, and was moaning feebly into Arthur's shoulder, when Arthur brought them both off, spectacularly, and they collapsed into a trembling heap, practically sobbing for breath.

"You're a right bastard," Merlin mumbled before he fell asleep, with the vague satisfaction of having maintained his sanity throughout, at least in part. "Don't think I'm not going to pay you back."

"That's what I'm hoping for," came the exhausted but triumphant reply as Arthur pulled the bedclothes up around them and tucked them in. "I look forward to it. Just not tonight."


	15. Halcyon Days

The next few days were calm and sunny, and Arthur, full of energy as usual, took advantage of the weather to go on long, exploratory walks. Sometimes Merlin went with him, amused to notice that more and more of the local girls seemed to be hanging about in front of the inn every morning when they emerged.

"Some friends have phoned me to ask why their daughters are so curious about this person my son's befriended," Hunith said, smiling, one afternoon as they took tea at the Blue Ribbon. "Pretty soon _they'll_ be spending time in front of the inn as well. They're curious. Is he really such a dish, and is he from some posh family in the UK or in the States, and if he's from the States, why doesn't he have an American accent? So if you see a group of middle aged ladies..."

Merlin snorted and Arthur poked him in the ribs with his elbow.

"The girls have been quite complimentary about _you_ as well," Hunith continued, turning to her son. "According to Mrs Power - you remember her, Merlin - they've been saying they had no idea you would turn out to be so nice looking, and so adorable, and they want to take you home and cuddle you like a teddy bear."

"A very bony teddy bear," Arthur remarked under his breath as Hunith turned to speak to a passing acquaintance. "Those girls have no idea what an uncomfortable pillow you make."

"But with brains rather than brawn," Merlin replied smugly.

"I have brains _and_ brawn," retorted Arthur, grinning even more smugly. "And don't you forget it."

"Am I likely to?" was the response. "You won't let me. Stop showing those pointy, vampire teeth. You'll frighten off all of those girls who are so curious about you."

"No way," said Arthur, still grinning. "Vampires are very fashionable these days."

A new group of tourists had moved into the inn, and Arthur and Merlin had returned to their separate rooms. This gave Merlin time to catch up on his sleep, and Arthur spent the hour or so before midnight each evening writing obnoxious emails to Morgana on his Blackberry.

She had emailed him back:

_Stepbrother dear, you obviously have_ **_time on your hands_ ** _or you wouldn't be sending me those ridiculous messages. What happened, did the inn put you in two separate rooms? Gwen's bridal shower is this Saturday, and then I'll be preparing for my London visit. We'll only be there for three days, a long weekend. Yes, I'm bringing Leon. No, I'm not telling Uther. If you tell him, I will curse you for all eternity. The new armor installation in Gallery 3 is a huge hit, so Lance is chuffed. Please give Mordred a hug from me and tell him I'm looking forward to seeing him. Give my love to Merlin and tell him I agree with everything he decides to do, and with nothing you may have to say._

Arthur had no intention of giving Mordred a hug, as fond as he was of his little half-brother. He knew perfectly well that if he did so, Mordred, who didn't care for hugs (except from his mother, and occasionally Morgana), would treat him to one of his icy glares, and possibly not speak to him for the rest of the day.

On a more serious note, an email came from Gaius, arriving on Arthur's Blackberry, as Merlin had refused to buy one.

_Dear Arthur and Merlin, I hope you're enjoying your stay in the country. Weather is hellish in New York. Uther has emailed me asking where you are; I feigned ignorance and merely said I thought you were doing some sort of driving tour - a white lie at best. Cornelius Sigan sent a photo of his tapestry in an email attatchment, and I had Gwen take a look at the tiff or cliff or whatever you call them. It's an extremely fine piece, and as I imagine that Sigan will show it to you in person, I look forward to hearing your verdict. Give my dear love to Hunith, and all my best wishes. Gaius._

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"I suppose we should be thinking about a wedding present for Gwen and Lance," Arthur said, chewing absently on his Ray-Ban aviators.

"Mmm." Merlin replied. He was lying on the grass on the shore of the lake just beyond the edge of town. Even Arthur, hardcore city dweller that he was, had to admit that there was something idyllic about this place. The countryside was green and lush, there weren't any mosquitoes worth mentioning, and the townspeople - apart from their intense curiosity about him - were friendly enough. Merlin still joked about how Arthur probably had expected shuffling village idiots muttering "Aye, 'tes true. We mun go to church and pray for the soul of Hunith's boy, for takin up with tha' Pendragon fellow."

"We can scout out some antiques at Mrs Power's little shop," Merlin was mumbling, half asleep. Several days of eating large meals, baked goods, and even the occasional scoop of clotted cream (in which he rarely but carefully indulged, in spite of his lactose intolerance) hadn't made an iota of difference to his slender frame. If anything, he looked even thinner, but Arthur noted his brittle grace as he twisted around in his grassy nest, the clarity of his finely drawn profile.

"Tempting as your position is," Arthur murmured, still eyeing his junior conservator, "I daren't lay a hand on you for fear some local busybody will come tearing through the undergrowth at a crucial moment. On the other hand, why deprive Ealdor of enough gossip to last the rest of the year?"

"Does Ealdor _need_ a year's worth of gossip?" Merlin asked skeptically.

"Apparently, as people wouldn't be staring at us in the street otherwise," was Arthur's curt reply.

Merlin gave a muffled laugh and turned over onto his back, flinging one arm over his eyes to keep out the sun. "Speaking of gossip," he said quietly, "remind me to stop in and visit Will's parents. His mum's lovely, but she's the biggest gossip in town. I'm surprised she isn't out here in the woods with a camera and her ancient pair of opera glasses."

"Right; shall I come with you?" Arthur asked, setting down the handbook from the Historical Society. As he watched Merlin squirm in an effort to find a comfortable spot, it occurred to him that in fewer than three days they'd be in London, under Uther's watchful eye, and they certainly wouldn't be able to spend any nights together there. They had spent the past two in separate rooms, and although Merlin quipped that he was finally regaining the ability to walk properly, Arthur didn't think that he would be able to stand much more of this enforced celibacy. Although he had always had a strong sex drive, in the past it had never been a hardship to go without for months at a time, if he was between partners. With Merlin in his vicinity, however, it was difficult for him not to think about beds and rumpled sheets and heat, passion-dampened skin, black lashes hovering over blue eyes darkened with a mixture of desire and pleasure, a delicate sheen of sweat in the hollow of a long, boyish throat. Not to mention what a pair of pale, slim hands and a pink, swollen mouth could do to _him_.

Merlin interrupted his erotic reverie with a tiresomely practical suggestion.

"Perhaps we should buy something to take to London, for your...your father," he mumured, eyes closed. To himself, he thought Uther might like no better gift than to hear that Merlin Emrys had volunteered to join a six-month expedition to the North Pole.

"It's not easy to buy things for him," Arthur said, almost fretfully. "What do you buy for the man who has everything?"

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"You must be so looking forward to seeing your father in London," Hunith said to Arthur the following evening. "Will your stepsister be joining you? I've seen her picture; what a lovely girl she is."

"Yes, I suppose she is," Arthur said in a pained voice. "I believe she'll be coming to London from New York for a weekend."

"It should be fun," Merlin added with a look of profound innocence. "I can't wait. Morgana must have missed you, Arthur. The two of you get on so beautifully. It's a pleasure to watch them working in harmony," he added loudly as Hunith stood up to refill their coffee cups.

"The list of punishable offenses you've committed is getting longer and longer," Arthur whispered. "Just a word of warning."

This stimulating exchange was interrupted by Hunith, who deposited a massive Lady Baltimore cake in the center of the table, and cut the largest slice for Arthur, followed by another generous portion for her son. Merlin gave Arthur a deliberately angelic smile before tucking into his.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Look what I found," Merlin said proudly, placing a large box on Arthur's bed.

He had knocked on Arthur's door that morning, gone down to breakfast with him, and then disappeared down the street, saying he wanted to spend an hour or so with Will's parents and then look into some of the local shops. The box was wrapped in plain brown paper; Merlin unwrapped it, opened the lid of the box, and pointed happily. Arthur tore his eyes away from the _bed_ and looked on as Merlin lifted out a fluted porcelain bowl, complete with lid and a pair of handles, pure white and beautifully simple except for the delicate gilding that scrolled around the rim of the bowl, the foot, and the edge of the lid.

"It's Georgian," he said, beaming and looking so pleased with himself that Arthur had to stifle a smile. "Found it in Mrs Power's little antique shop. I think Gwen will like it. I don't know Lance's taste though; what's your opinion?"

Arthur lifted the lid and looked inside the bowl, in the bottom of which was a small motif of a crossed sword and mace.

"He'll love it," he replied dryly. "That ought to be his family crest. Bravo, Merlin. That was a clever find."

"I think it'll fit in my luggage," Merlin said thoughtfully. "That reminds me; shouldn't we pack this afternoon?" In all honesty, he wasn't sorry to be leaving, as much as he had enjoyed spending time with his mother. Arthur had been surprisingly obliging about staying in Ealdor - for all of his restless energy - but each day it was becoming more and more obvious that this kind of placid country life was not for him.

"Yes, we ought to," Arthur said absently. Tomorrow night they would be in London, condemned to separate bedrooms for a little more than a week. "Pack, that is. How many guests are still on this floor?"

"Every room's full," Merlin replied, looking at Arthur from the corner of his eye. "Although I have no idea why tourists would want to come here when they could be off in the Cotswolds or something, instead."

Arthur seemed a little downcast, but he said nothing further on the subject. They went down to dinner at the restaurant, argued mildly about which route to take to London, and telephoned Hunith to let her know that they would be stopping by her house for brunch before leaving Ealdor the next morning. Then they went back to their rooms, Merlin humming cheerfully, Arthur looking decidedly out of sorts, and set to work on their packing.

By the time Arthur was in bed, his luggage was zipped up and travel-ready, his wallet, room key, and car keys on the nightstand, and the shirt he planned to wear to London was hanging on the front of the wardrobe door. The breeze blowing the lace curtains of the bedside window was actually chilly, but Arthur made no move to close the heavier outer drapes. He was listlessly watching a bar of moonlight progress along the floor when his door creaked open, and Merlin slipped inside.

"You left your door unlocked," he whispered before dropping his clothes and sliding soundlessly into Arthur's bed. "How careless, Mr Assistant Director."

"You," Arthur whispered back as they rolled into each other's arms, skin creating gentle friction against skin, "are the most infuriating tease in all creation. Have you always been like this?"

"Or course not," Merlin said frowning, sitting up halfway. "Your prattishness brings out the worst in me." He put both hands on Arthur's shoulders, and Arthur let himself be pushed onto his back. The long, cool weight of Merlin on top of him made him close his eyes, waiting to feel that thin, hard body take on warmth from his own.

"The rooms really are all booked," Merlin said faintly against Arthur's ear, his lips just brushing the lobe. "We'll have to be very quiet. I mean, extremely quiet."

Arthur pressed his forefinger against Merlin's mouth.

"Feast before famine," he murmured, thinking about London. He felt, rather than saw, Merlin smile, before he slid one hand into that spiky mop of black hair and pulled him down for kissing.


	16. He Who Must Not Be Named

Arthur navigated the London traffic with respect and a firm hand, as Merlin sat beside him saying little.

They had left Ealdor shortly before midday, after a farewell brunch with Hunith. Merlin had prayed that she wouldn't cry when they drove off, and she hadn't, but she had kissed him and given him a fierce hug, as though she was afraid to let him go. She had given Arthur a hug as well, to Merlin's embarrassment, and had stood by the car as they checked to see that they had everything in order and then buckled themselves in.

"Take care of yourself, darling," she had said to Merlin, her eyes shining and lips tightly pressed together.

"I'll look after him," Arthur said, and Merlin turned red and then pale with indignation.

"I can look after myself, thanks," he snorted, but both Arthur and Hunith laughed. After a moment, Merlin had to give a wry grin, remembering how he had nearly fallen down the stairs that morning, slow and still drowsy, and how Arthur had caught him by the arm with an exaggerated groan of exasperation. This made him remember, too, how he had kissed Arthur awake, earlier, and how Arthur had…erm, with his hand, in response. His own hand had gone where Arthur wanted it to go, and…what luck they had made it downstairs to breakfast on time.

It had rained a little during the night, and the countryside looked fresh, cleanswept, and pretty as they drove through it. Three hours later, they were fighting traffic in the London suburbs, and the view beyond the windshield consisted mostly of irate drivers, street signs, and car exhaust.

By the time they were nearing Kensington, Arthur had lapsed into a kind of chilly silence.

"I'm sure it won't be so bad," Merlin ventured, and Arthur scowled.

"I have no intention of getting into a fight with Father, at least not until breakfast tomorrow," he replied brusquely.

"Well...I don't know," Merlin said seriously, looking at Arthur sideways. "Do _not_ force the battle."

"Yes, sire!" replied Arthur in a hearty voice, but moments later his uncommunicative scowl reappeared, and Merlin could see that his hands were tense on the steering wheel.

Obnoxiousness was clearly the only way to break the tension, so...

"Are you nervous?" Merlin asked, because he knew that Arthur would find this either distracting or infuriating.

"I don't _get_ nervous," Arthur said flatly.

"Really? I thought everybody got ner-"

"Will you _shut up_!" Arthur shouted over the noise of the traffic, and spent the next several minutes mumbling under his breath about the utter lunacy of junior conservators as he dodged hordes of pedestrians and numerous bad drivers. Merlin simply sat quietly, satisfied to see Arthur jolted out of his self-absorbed, dour silence, and hoping that You-Know-Who would be in a good mood when they finally arrived.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Uther's temporary residence in Earls Terrace, Kensington, was an imposing affair, its completely up-to-date, twenty-first century interior hidden behind a solemn Georgian facade. (According to Arthur, the actual family home near Belgrave Square was much nicer, more elegant but warm and _homier._ ) This, however, was just the sort of house Merlin had imagined for the man he had come to think of as He Who Must Not Be Named. (Uther, to his way of thinking, was far scarier than Lord Voldemort could ever be.) Having parked the car, humped the luggage up the few steps to the front door, and looked each other over - Arthur gestured to Merlin to smooth his hair down, and Merlin told Arthur that his collar was twisted - they rang the bell and waited.

"It'll be okay, Merlin," Arthur said quietly. "I'm sure Father will be civil to you. If he isn't...he'll have to answer to me."

Seconds laer the door was flung wide; Uther's second wife, Elaine, was standing just inside. Mother of Morgana (by her first husband, the deceased Gorlois), mother of Mordred (by Uther). Arthur, who felt affection for her, had warned Merlin that she was a bit of an airhead, but she was charming, soft, and pretty, with fluffy blonde hair, and the first thing she did was to fling her arms around her stepson's neck and kiss him on both cheeks. For a moment it looked as though she would kiss Merlin as well, but Uther, emerging from the shadows of the front hall, cleared his throat loudly, and she shook his hand warmly instead. Then Mordred materialized, as if from nowhere, and stepped calmly in front of his father.

Arthur was grateful, very grateful indeed a moment later, that Mordred was there, because his presence made things easier. Uther shook hands with Merlin, his manner affable but slightly reserved, before clapping his son solidly on the back. Arthur punched Mordred on the shoulder in a brotherly fashion. Mordred gave him a look, as if to say "What is this silly macho behavior?" and punched back, knocking Arthur slightly off balance. He then gravely shook hands with Merlin, his face alight with one of his rare smiles, and when the two of them began to talk, it was as one adult to another. Uther inquired about the traffic, and Elaine asked whether they were hungry, so by the time all of the bags and suitcases were sitting in the hall, the conversation among them was relatively easy and relaxed.

Arthur had been given a room two doors away from Uther's, and Merlin's, as had been expected, was as far away from his as possible, and across the hall from Mordred's. Back downstairs in the parlour - it was really too rigidly elegant to be called a sitting room - Uther's housekeeper brought in tea. Elaine poured out, sitting on a cream-colored ottoman at the foot of Uther's chair, and Mordred handed around tea cakes and biscuits with his usual glacial calm. Merlin's gaze met Arthur's, and he gave a little smile before Uther interrupted their eye play to ask him how his work on the Institute's manuscripts was going.

"It's going well, thanks," said Merlin politely, wondering what sort of report He Who Must Not Be Named had received from Aredian. Thankfully, Uther then turned to Arthur to inquire about Morgana and the new Institute handbook she and Gaius were writing, so Merlin turned his attention to Mordred. For the next half hour, he listened to the boy's chatter about particle physics, the dullness of school, how classes were too easy for him, whether art conservation might be a good choice for a career instead of science, and how everybody thought he was too young to learn how to do thermoluminescence testing on works of art.

"I've something to show you," Mordred finally said to Arthur, as they finished their tea and stood up. "It's in my room; come on, then."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Mordred's bedroom was almost unnaturally tidy. Arthur remembered Mordred as a small child of five, putting his toys neatly in his toychest and piling his books into neatly squared heaps, or simply lining them up (according to size) on his bookshelf. He had been reading at age two, counting and doing simple sums even earlier. Now, Mordred's walls were bare of the usual posters and stickers one would expect to see in a room belonging to a child his age; his bookshelves were still neat, his floor uncluttered. The only clutter Arthur could see was on a worktable at one end of the room, where bits and pieces of electronic equipment littered the surface. The empty shell of a clock radio, two television remote control wands, and a deconstructed mobile phone were among the objects Arthur was able to recognize.

"So," said Arthur in the jolliest manner that he could muster under the circumstances. "What is this mysterious object you've made for me?"

"For you and Merlin," Mordred corrected him in his precise little voice. For a moment Arthur wanted to laugh, but he knew Mordred would not appreciate that in the least. So he mastered the impulse, and said calmly, "That's right, for myself and Merlin. Well, what is it?"

"It's here," Mordred murmured, gesturing at something that looked like a baby monitor, or a miniature laptop computer, with a small screen and even smaller attached speaker.

"Ah," said Arthur, at a loss for words because he had no notion of what it was. "Splendid. What…what is it?"

"I made it myself," Mordred said, pointing at the pieces of circuitry lying all over the table. "I used some of the circuits from Cousin Galahad's old baby monitor, and part of that alarm clock, there, and some bits from other things…the remote control from a broken television and a motion sensor from the old alarm system in the Belgravia house, and oh, I can't remember all of it. It's a Father Detector."

"A what?" asked his older half-brother, completely astonished.

Mordred's eyes, blue-grey in his pale little face, showed his surprise at how thick an adult could be. "A Father Detector. Look, you can use it when Father goes out. I've connected this to the viewer downstairs, you know, the one that let's you see who's at the door, in case it's a stranger. You'll be able to see on the monitor if Father's come home. It should give you enough time."

"Give me enough time…Mordred, give me enough time for what?"

"I've also hooked up a motion sensor by Father's bedroom. So you can tell if he's coming out of his room at night. That'll give you less time, since you're only two doors away, but it's a warning of some sort."

"Enough time for…? A warning about…? M-Mordred, could you explain this to me, please. As though I were, uh, younger than you?"

"Father told Mum to put Merlin in the room across from mine. But I think you would like him to be in yours. So if you want him in your room, when Father's out, you'll need a warning system. To let you know when Father's back."

Mordred delivered this explanation in a patient voice, as matter-of-factly as if he was trying to show Arthur how to play the latest electronic game on a computer or Wii.

Arthur sat down hard on Mordred's desk chair.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Arthur expected Merlin to be shocked when he related this exchange to him, but Merlin only smiled and raised his eyebrows.

"Merlin," Arthur almost sputtered. "He's only...he's barely eleven yet! What can he be thinking?"

"For pity's sake, Arthur," Merlin replied calmly. "If he's like every other boy his age, he already knows about pretty much everything. To do with sex, I mean. Without the actual experience, of course. What with Wiki stuff, Youtube, and Youporn, these days youngsters can find out about anything you'd care to name."

"But _Merlin_ ," Arthur nearly shouted. "What does he think that we...that you and I..."

"On the other hand," Merlin continued, raking one hand through his hair until it stood on end like a hedgehog's bristles, "Mordred may have no idea. About what we, erm, do. He's a strange mixture of genius and innocence, that boy, and he doesn't seem to have much sexual curiosity. Perhaps he thinks that when we get into bed together we talk about particle physics."

"That's not funny, Merlin, you idiot," Arthur said sourly. "I'd clout you one, but I'd have to hold back, 'cause you're only tiny."

Merlin rolled his eyes. "I'm a lot stronger than I look, as I've said before," he murmured. "And I'm _taller_ than you are, much as you don't like to hear it. Never mind, though. I'll never expect you to discuss particle physics in bed."

"Not funny!" snapped Arthur, glaring at his incorrigible conservator, but Merlin could see that one corner of his mouth was twitching upward.

"Yes it is," Merlin replied, giving Arthur the particular look, from beneath his eyelashes, that had never failed yet. " _You_ just don't happen to see the humor in it. Didn't your stepmum say dinner was at eight? We had better go downstairs."


	17. Dinner at Uther's

"It's just a little dinner party, tomorrow night," Uther had said, an hour or so after they arrived, and now that it was tomorrow there was really no getting away from it.

Arthur had slept surprisingly well – in all likelihood as the result of fatigue and an afternoon of fighting traffic on the way to London – but he missed Merlin's presence in his bed. True, in Ealdor they had slept apart for several nights, but the few nights they had managed to spend together had made up for it. Here, in Uther's residence, it was unlikely that they would be able to indulge in anything similar, even with Mordred's "Father Detector" sitting on Arthur's bedside table.

This was frustrating, not just because of the (absence of) sex, but because - although he typically refused to mention it to Merlin - he enjoyed waking up with his junior conservator. Early mornings in bed with Merlin were rather unique, not to mention entertaining. Merlin slept like a child, deeply and contentedly, but he squirmed and wriggled like a child as well, and there were times when Arthur awoke to find himself completely entangled in long legs, a hand curled loosely on his chest, a tousled mop of hair tickling him under the chin, or on his shoulder, or on his stomach. Upon being wakened, Merlin would mumble something incoherent, and then flop over onto his front with a huge wallop, shaking the mattress and burying his face in the pillows. Propped up on one elbow, Arthur would watch with amusement as Merlin went from drowsy clumsiness to complete wakefulness, a process that sometimes needed to be speeded along with a prodding in the ribs or pulling of that short, silky mess of dark hair. When his sleep-clouded vision finally cleared and he looked at Arthur with alert blue eyes and a reproachful expression, it was not uncommon for Arthur to slide one arm around him and caress him gently to full arousal. Sometimes, though, they would simply lie still and stare at each other until one or the other broke down with laughter. After which they might crawl out of bed, still sniggering, and throw pillows or clothing in each other's direction, like a couple of schoolboys at summer camp. Or simply get up, shower and shave (muttering the most absurd insults throughout), and race to the kitchen for that first, crucial, cup of morning coffee, which they drank whilst listening to their next door neighbor, a soprano at the Metropolitan Opera, practice her scales.

Here in London, the morning routine was very different. No operatic wake-up music. No Merlin in his bed. Breakfast in Uther's dining room was a prolonged affair involving several different selections of food, all served on beautiful blue-and-white porcelain plates, Chinese export-ware. Elaine chattered about the London weather, asked about life in New York, and questioned both Arthur and Merlin about Morgana's various activities. Mordred's fascination with Merlin seemed to have extended to Merlin's eating habits, and rather than his usual bowl of sugary breakfast cereal, poached egg, and toast soldiers slathered with jam, he opted to have – like Merlin – porridge, a banana, and toast with peanut butter. Uther drank two cups of black coffee and stared at his son and his son's conservator as though they were an experiment under the viewer of a microscope.

Guests at the little dinner party, he informed them, would be Aredian, Cornelius Sigan, and Cornelius Sigan's (trophy) wife Enid. Dress would be semi-formal. He cast a doubtful eye over Merlin's tee shirt. Earlier, he had looked askance at the Pendragon signet ring on Merlin's right hand, but it seemed clear that he was not ready to mention it, at least, not yet.

"But Aredian told me he wouldn't be in the city during our visit," Merlin ventured to say. "He said he was sorry he would, erm, miss us."

"I was able to change his mind," Uther replied, as though this was a matter of course. "He's known Cornelius for years, so he was pleased to re-arrange his schedule."

"Great," said Arthur, his tone of voice implying that it was definitely _not_ great. "I need to check emails now, Father, so if you'd excuse me for half an hour or so…Merlin, you'd better check yours as well. Make certain Lord Moldywart's appendages haven't fallen off in your absence."

Mordred actually _laughed_ ; Uther looked mildly shocked by this disrespectful reference to a work of art, and Elaine looked at all of them with a completely clueless expression in her pretty blue eyes.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Arthur had his trusty Blackberry, but Merlin requested the use of the computer in Uther's library to access any emails people might have sent to him during the previous week. There were a few cheery ones from Gwen, one, from Gaius, that was filled with fatherly admonitions, and another from Will that made him sit up and take notice.

_Dear Merlin, you won't recognize the place when you come back, as we are taking advantage of his lordship's absence to get drunk, party every day, redecorate the entrance hall with balloons and inflated condoms, and paint smiley faces on all the sculptures. JUST JOKING! Everybody's curious about Sigan's bloody tapestry, you'd think it was the Holy Grail the way Gwen's been nattering on about it. We actually got a letter from that ass Aredian, congratulating the Conservation Department on its treatment of Lord Moldywart. Can you believe it? I mean, I know he's got this mile high reputation, and I know he's excellent with metalwork, ceramics, and stone, but I don't think he knows fuck all about wooden sculpture. Anyway, he said he'd spoken to Sigan about you, so watch out. Mum was really pleased to see you, thanks for stopping in to visit her. Enjoy your time in London, and don't let his royal highness tire you out, nudge nudge, wink wink. Morgana, Gwen, Gaius, Gwen, Leon, and everybody else send greetings. So behave yourself, old cock, and don't do anything you shouldn't. Will._

Merlin was not particularly surprised to hear that the Institute staff was rabidly curious about Cornelius Sigan's tapestry, and it occurred to him that the collector had been teasing them with hints of this possible donation, using the work of art like a piece of candy dangling tantalizingly on the end of a string. What made him nervous was Aredian having made a point of mentioning him to Sigan. Why discuss the Institute's junior paper conservator with the man? Gwen, not Merlin Emrys, was the textiles and tapestry conservator.

"Anything interesting?" Arthur asked, coming into the room, behind him. Merlin shook his head, still reading, but sensing Arthur's glance on the back of his neck. Arthur _was_ , in fact, staring at the milky pallor of his nape beneath tendrils of black hair, and thinking that if they were at home, he could walk up behind his young conservator, lean down and put his lips to that tender skin. He could even bite him, softly at first, and then a little harder…

"Ow," said Merlin, almost as though Arthur _had_ bitten him. "Why are all the chairs in this room so uncomfortable? Will says they're going to trash the Institute whilst we're away."

"They wouldn't dare," Arthur responded, looking curiously at the screen. "Unless they're willing to face the Wrath of Pendragon."

"This dinner," his conservator murmured, exiting from his email, "should be interesting. I finally get to meet the mysterious Mr Sigan."

"Right," said Arthur, his voice heavy with sarcasm. "How very exciting. Aren't you happy you brought your Brooks Brothers suit? If you appeared at the table in your usual kit, you'd be on the waiting list for the executioner's ax."

"I don't see how a suit is going to make everything better," Merlin snorted. "But if Aredian decides to murder his competition - meaning me - I suppose I could throw my _cufflinks_ at him in self defense." He raised one eyebrow, a la Gaius. "You've probably misplaced _yours_ , as usual."

"Merlin," Arthur snapped with mock surprise. "Who said anything about throwing cufflinks? And no, I haven't misplaced mine. I only do that when you're in my immediate vicinity. You'll have to throttle him with your tie."

"I'm praying for a food fight," Merlin said mildly. "That would liven things up. I'd like to see the great Aredian with a faceful of pudding."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"What have _you_ got against Aredian, Merlin?" Arthur asked as they stood in front of a mirror in the upstairs hallway, adjusting ties and straightening collars. "You only met him for, what was it, an hour or so."

"I get tired of being labeled 'the boy' by these venerable, grey-haired senior conservators," Merlin replied blithely. "I don't have anything against him, really, but it's irritating to hear yourself referred to as a boy and a pretty thing by somebody who obviously thinks you're little more than Arthur Pendragon's flavor of the week."

"Did he actually call you that?" Arthur said in astonishment, chuckling. Merlin was battling one of his cufflinks, as usual, and Arthur reached out and adjusted them both for him. A pretty thing indeed! If only Uther wouldn't spend quite so much time at home...it might be interesting to see whether Mordred's Father Detector actually worked.

"Not exactly," Merlin was saying, with a little grin. "By the way, your stepmother was very kind and assured me that there would be a vegetarian dish for me. She ordered lamb with mint sauce for the rest of you, including Aredian - who, according to her, has a fondness for sauteed frog's legs."

"Punctual, I see," came Uther's voice from the other end of the hall. "Shall we go downstairs?"

"I'm always punctual," Arthur replied, truthfully. He had been well-trained in punctuality, by his father, from early childhood. Being on time was for him nearly second nature.

Uther was giving both of them what Arthur could only describe as an assessing look, as though he was examining a pair of horses, or, more appropriately, a pair of medieval or Renaissance sculptures. Turning his head slightly, he saw himself and Merlin reflected in the enormous, gilt-framed mirror, and he could see what Uther was staring at.

What his father was eyeing would have made an attractive photograph, or an even more attractive painting by an eighteenth-century Neoclassical artist. Two young men, of about the same height (Merlin was _only a fraction_ taller than he was, Arthur reassured himself), one fair, one black-haired, one athletically built, one extremely slim. Both dressed in dark evening clothes. Both had been called, by various people, beautiful. (Arthur winced at the word, but he had heard it applied to himself more times than he could count, and he himself applied it –although never out loud – to Merlin.) As far as beauty was concerned, Merlin might be an acquired taste; he was too thin for traditional good looks, his face too narrow and angular to fit the standards of male beauty established by classical sculptors or painters, but Arthur had to admit that he had always considered his junior conservator wonderful to look at. Merlin's peculiar physical charm lay as much in his coltish, linear grace as in the pink fullness of his lips and the changeable blue of his eyes, the startling sweep of his cheekbones, and the contrast between his dark hair and stereotypically pale Celtic complexion.

His father might not approve of any relationship between himself and Merlin other than a platonic one, but surely he had the Pendragon eye for beauty, even offbeat beauty. Surely he must understand his son's appreciation of young Mr Emrys on a visual as well as a professional level?

Or…perhaps not.

"Shall we go downstairs?" Uther asked again, and headed for the stairway. "Cornelius rang up an hour ago. He said he would be a few minutes late, but that he was looking forward to meeting you again, Arthur, after so many years."

Arthur gave Merlin a wry look and tugged lightly at his sleeve behind his father's back.

"I'm sure he'll be pleased by the sight of you in your Armani suit," Merlin whispered, trying to keep a straight face.

"The last time he saw me," Arthur muttered, "I must have been sixteen. I was wearing jeans and my old, red Thriller jacket."

"No!" whispered Merlin delightedly. "You're joking! You had a Thriller _jacket_? When _I_ was twelve or so I was dying to get my hands on one of those."

"I had a modified version," said Arthur, smiling broadly for the first time that evening. "I'm going to search it out, and see if it still fits. If it does, I'll put it on, and you can run your hands all over it. After which I will run my hands all over you."

"Shhh!" hissed Merlin warningly, as Uther turned his head and gave them a questioning look. Shrugging his shoulders, Arthur started down the stairs with Merlin tagging along behind him, his mind filled with an image of the Institute's Assistant Director shrugging himself out of a crimson Thriller jacket.


	18. The Toad and the Raven

The renowned conservator Aredian looked nothing like a toad. He was as grey and distinguished as Merlin remembered, calm and at ease in his dark evening clothes. Why Merlin associated him with a croaking amphibian he had no idea. Perhaps it was because Elaine had said, earlier, that he was fond of sauteed frog's legs, but now he could not get the image of Aredian with his mouth full of toad out of his head.

There were no sauteed frog's legs on the table. There was an elegant rack of lamb, with mint sauce, and Merlin had been presented with a dish of delicately grilled vegetables. He and Arthur were seated across from Aredian and the entrepreneur and art collector, Cornelius Sigan, which enabled him to study them both with impunity whilst pretending to examine the enormous silver candelabras adorning the center of the table.

Aredian had arrived first, and as he and Uther busied themselves with drinks, the doorbell had rung and Sigan and his wife had been ushered into the room. Cornelius Sigan looked very much as Merlin had seen him in photographs (he had checked Google Image for up-to-date pictures): lanky, gaunt-faced, with light brown hair, a small Van Dyke beard, and somewhat prominent eyes, a rather cheerful smile. His wife Enid was beautiful, a stunning redhead with a magnificent figure; it was easy to believe that she had once been a highly-paid lingerie model. Merlin recalled Morgana's claim that she could talk the hind legs off a donkey and this appeared to be true, for from the moment she was introduced she never once halted the flow of chatter that issued from her pouting red-lacquered lips.

"Arthur," the entrepreneur had murmured, holding out his hand. "A pleasure. I believe the last time we met, you were still a schoolboy. I understand you've done fine work for the Pendragon Institute in New York...I really must pay the place a visit...during my next trip to the States, perhaps...Ah, your conservator, I think? Mr Emrys?"

Arthur took Sigan's hand and shook it, looking the man cooly in the eye. Sigan's own eyes had widened slightly at the sight of Arthur in his dark suit, his face impassive, his hair a gleaming, neatly styled cap of gold, and Merlin wondered how closely he resembled the sixteen year old the collector had seen last. Then Arthur introduced Merlin, and as Merlin put his hand into Sigan's faintly clammy grip, he could almost feel the collector's glance running over him in an assessing manner.

"I'm only a junior conservator, Mr Sigan," Merlin explained, but the collector smiled.

"That will change in future, I'm sure," he said, looking at Merlin's face and then at the slender hand he held, before releasing his hold.

"A very promising young man," boomed Aredian from across the room, and Merlin blinked. He could see Arthur making a concerted effort not to laugh.

As they all savored the delicious meal, and the wines that went with it, Arthur made small talk with the unstoppable Enid and exchanged a few pleasantries with Sigan. Merlin spoke when spoken to and soon found, to his relief, that Elaine was easy and pleasant to converse with. She addressed him with genuine sweetness and asked him questions about the staff at the Institute. She also asked him about Morgana, and whether Morgana was seeing some young man.

"The poor dear's so busy," she sighed, smiling brightly at Merlin, and he couldn't help but return her smile, wondering how on earth she was able to put up with Uther. "I do wish she would ring me more often. I'm quite desperate to hear from her. But she'll be here this weekend, I understand. I can't wait."

"Neither can I," Merlin replied frankly. He was thinking that Morgana's presence, with or without Leon in tow, would take some of the heat off himself and Arthur. If she should actually have the insanity, or courage, to introduce Leon as her lover, he could only imagine the eruption of Pendragon fury that would turn the household upside down. And poor Leon would get the ax, no doubt. It was good to know that he had that teaching position at one of the state universities waiting in the wings, should Uther decide to sack him. Well, Arthur would probably back her in whatever decision she made. And her little brother Mordred might do the same.

Mordred was not present at dinner, of course. Uther thought him too young for such company, and he had been sent to spend the night with a friend, a classmate from the nearby school for gifted children, where astronomical fees ensured that attending pupils were blessed with very wealthy daddies.

Pudding was creme brulee, Arthur's favorite according to Uther. Merlin (who could only accept a miniscule portion) eyed it wistfully, trying to imagine a plateful making contact with Aredian's face, obliterating that faintly condescending hauteur with a mass of burnt sugar topping and dripping cream.

He realized that he must have been grinning when Arthur shot him a warning look, and readjusted his features to reflect a courteous interest in whatever the senior Pendragon was saying. Uther, to give him credit, was an amiable and even charming host, smiling frequently and complimenting Aredian on his most recent work and Sigan on the continuing success of Raven Air ("I understand you still permit passengers to bring extra carry-on luggage at no charge!"). To Merlin he said little, but he was polite and included him in the general conversation, and Merlin could sense Arthur's shoulders relaxing as the evening wore on.

And he was still imagining the Assistant Director of the Pendragon Institute in that red Thriller jacket.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The food fight Merlin had fantasized about did not materialize, much to his disappointment, and before long they were all sipping their coffee or partaking of Uther's fine, and no doubt expensive, brandy. Merlin refused the brandy (Arthur had given him another warning look) and accepted coffee, pleased to find that it was blessedly strong. Having returned to the parlour, they were all at liberty to stroll about and speak with whomever they wished, as well as indulge in more brandy and the sugar-glazed almonds Elaine had set out in little silver bowls. No sooner had he seated himself on a large, cream-colored ottoman than Merlin suddenly found Cornelius Sigan on his left, a brandy in one hand and a bowl of almonds in the other.

"Mr Emrys," Sigan said with a curl of his lips that was clearly meant to be friendly. "I hope you and Arthur are willing to come to my home to examine the tapestry I may turn over as a gift to the Pendragon Institute." His voice was light and faintly raspy; he mumbled a little so that Merlin had to lean towards him to hear what he was saying.

"I should like to see it," he replied cordially, trying to catch Arthur's eye. When the collector cleared his throat, he turned his head, only to find Sigan's face less than a foot away from his. Hesitant to look at him directly, he turned his attention to Sigan's tie, which was dark grey with a pattern of tiny black ravens.

"Ah yes," murmured Sigan, following Merlin's eyes. "My emblem."

"Very impressive," stammered Merlin, remembering the noisy crows outside of Arthur's window at the inn in Ealdor. As he had never flown Raven Air, he could think of nothing else to say on the subject.

"I shall speak to Arthur," Sigan continued, smiling more broadly. "I think you will both find the tapestry quite fascinating. Now that I've met you face to face, I can think of several reasons why."

What on earth was this odd bloke on about? "Oh?" Merlin said, beginning to feel more than a little uncomfortable. "That's, erm, interesting," he added lamely, raising his eyes to find Sigan's alight with some kind of secret amusement.

"Shall we say Monday, for dinner?" the collector asked, standing up. "I'll ask your Assistant Director now, if I may, Mr Emrys."

"Merlin," said Merlin automatically, still trying to catch Arthur's eye. "I've seen a photograph...that is, I've seen a fax of a photograph. It's a beautiful piece." To his immense relief, Arthur took advantage of a pause in Enid's continuous chatter to excuse himself and make his way across the room to Merlin's side. Sigan looked at him, still smiling, and Arthur raised a questioning eyebrow.

"Dear me, Arthur," said the collector smoothly. "I didn't mean to monopolize your young conservator's time." There was a touch of innuendo in his voice, and Merlin could see Arthur flush.

"Not a problem," mumbled Merlin before Arthur could reply. He realized that Cornelius Sigan must be well aware of their more-than-professional relationship; there had been too much noise in the press, months ago, for someone active in the museum world _not_ to be aware of it.

"We were discussing your visit, to look at the tapestry," Sigan explained to Arthur. "I think Monday would be best. You'll come for dinner, I hope?"

"Thank you, yes," replied Arthur, rather curtly. Sigan smiled again, and then suddenly Aredian was standing at his elbow.

"Talking about that tapestry, are you?" he queried, his eyes moving from one to the other. "Magnificent work of art, I've never seen quite the like." As he looked at Merlin, his eyes suddenly narrowed, and he exchanged a brief glance with Sigan. "You'll appreciate it, I'm sure," he said to Arthur. "As will you, my boy."

Merlin gritted his teeth.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

For the next half hour, Sigan and Aredian appeared to be thoroughly preoccupied, although with what nobody was able to hear, as they spoke softly, keeping their distance from everyone else. Uther joked with the flirtatious Enid, and Arthur and Merlin sat quietly talking with Elaine about Morgana's upcoming weekend visit.

By the time the guests took their leave, everybody was stifling yawns. Merlin complimented Elaine on the dinner, thanked her and Uther for the "splendid evening," and mounted the stairs, trying to remember what he and Arthur were meant to be doing the following day. He could hear Arthur behind him, but did not turn his head until he reached the top of the steps. Once they were face to face, he could see that Arthur was tired, and faintly annoyed by the evening's proceedings, but - in typical Arthur fashion - would deny this if asked.

In the dimly lit hallway outside of his bedroom, Arthur caught Merlin by the wrist and tugged him against his chest. Then he curved one hand around the back of his neck and kissed him, softly but passionately, until the knees of both went a little weak.

"Your father will be coming up those stairs at any minute," Merlin said, muffled against Arthur's jaw.

"I know," Arthur responded, shrugging. "Your virtue is safe from me until he's out of the house."

"I can't believe how matey he is with Sigan," Merlin commented, running one finger along Arthur's jawline to his chin. "They're such complete opposites, personality wise. So if Sigan-"

"If you mention that man's name one more time," Arthur whispered, "I promise _I will make your life_ _a living hell_."

"More than you already do?" Merlin whispered back, rolling his eyes.

"Or I'll throw you to the dogs," Arthur said dreamily as he pulled Merlin back in.

"Dogs...what dogs?" Merlin scoffed before Arthur kissed him again. "There are no...mmph...no dogs in this pristine house."

"A pity," murmured Arthur. "Well, I'll have to think of another fitting punishment." He looked regretfully at his bedroom door, and then drew back, releasing Merlin's arm and waist, as he heard voices in the stairwell.

"Museums tomorrow," Arthur said loudly as Merlin stepped away from him. "We can begin making the rounds after breakfast."

"Goodnight, Arthur," Merlin replied just as loudly, seconds before Uther appeared at the top of the stairs. Turning, he headed in the direction of his own room, hoping that the senior Pendragon hadn't had the horrid notion of installing hidden cameras in the hallway.


	19. Arthur Takes Control

With Uther's dinner out of the way, the only thing to worry about was the upcoming evening with Cornelius Sigan. Although Arthur was saying nothing about it, Merlin could sense that he was uncomfortable with the prospect. In the meantime, Morgana's weekend visit was fast approaching, and he and Arthur amused themselves by making up scenarios for confrontations between herself and her stepfather.

"How can she possibly hide Leon?" Merlin wondered. "I'm surprised Uther hasn't heard anything about them from his cronies in New York. Or perhaps he has. It's not like Morgana's ever tried to hide their, erm, friendship. And what excuse did she give her mother for not staying at home while she's here?"

"Oh, she's stayed in hotels during previous visits," came the answer. "She tells them she likes her independence, and doesn't want to disturb them by having her friends trooping in and out of the house. Elaine's understanding. She's never interferred much with Morgana's private life. Father, on the other hand..." Arthur frowned, and Merlin realized that he wasn't only thinking about Morgana.

For the next two days, as planned, Arthur and Merlin made the rounds to London museums, viewing exhibitions and meeting with curators and other personnel. It was tiring, but not unpleasant, as there were some magnificent objects on display, and Arthur was on a friendly basis with most of the curators. During these jaunts Merlin encountered two young conservators, fellow students from the Courtauld, and they greeted him with alacrity, casting curious glances in Arthur's direction. There was no getting away from the fact that people _knew_ about them; this was inevitable, but Merlin realized that it must be a veritable thorn in Uther Pendragon's side.

Evenings in Uther's temporary Kensington home were only periodically awkward. Uther was surprisingly quiet, but he had occasional bouts of joviality, during which he spoke to his older son in a smiling and hearty, if not openly affectionate, manner. He addressed Merlin with courtesy, neither unfriendly nor particularly friendly, leaving it to his wife to make pleasant conversation with him. Arthur, for his part, talked business with his father and played table tennis (at which he was highly proficient) with Mordred. When Mordred wasn't playing table tennis, glued to his computer screen, or fiddling with complex algebra equations for fun, he sat and chatted with Merlin.

"I've never, _never_ seen this child take such a fancy to anyone outside the family circle," Elaine assured Merlin one morning at breakfast. "It's like _magic_...I don't know how you did it."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Are you going to stay in London until you go back to New York?" Mordred asked Merlin when he and Arthur collapsed in the parlour between museum visits.

"Erm, Arthur said something about driving to Wales..." Merlin said vaguely, realizing that their schedule would hardly allow them to do all the things they had talked about.

"Only if time permits," Arthur rapped out briskly. "Although I know Merlin's _dying_ to go to Cardiff."

"Says you," Merlin replied. "I wouldn't mind going, but we _won't_ have enough time, I'm afraid."

"Afraid?" asked Arthur with mock concern. "What could you possibly be afraid of?"

"Ginger people," said Merlin, thinking fast. "Too many ginger people in Cardiff."

" _What_!" said Arthur in astonishment, before he very nearly doubled over with laughter.

"Don't listen to us," Merlin admonished Mordred. "We're just making this up. Of course we haven't anything against ginger people."

"My teacher has ginger hair," said Mordred, considering this.

"I happen to like it," Merlin began, but Arthur interrupted him with an imperious gesture.

"Merlin's afraid of them, Mordred," Arthur intoned in a voice of gloomy solemnity. "Terrified. Petrified. For pity's sake, Merlin, don't be such a girl! Cardiff's hardly teeming with gingers. I think there are one or two."

"He bullies me all the time," Merlin announced to Mordred, rolling his eyes. "Your big brother the Assistant Director suffers from delusions of royalty."

"Don't listen to him," Arthur said severely. "I treat my employees and colleagues at the Institute - including Merlin and your sister - with the greatest kindness, gentility, and respect." (Merlin guffawed.) "He's simply being difficult. For shame, Merlin. Just wait until we get back to New York; the others will back me up."

The unrepentant silliness and rampant absurdity of their banter was completely lost on Mordred, who stared at them as if they had just beamed down from outer space. After a moment of looking from one to the other, and then wrinkling his brow, he came forward with a request:

"Can I come with you?"

"What, to New York?" asked Arthur, amazed, staring into his half-brother's pale little face. Mordred's grey-blue eyes stared intently back.

Surprisingly, they were saved from discussion of this by Uther, who came to collect his young son for a visit to the science museum, where there was to be a lecture on quantum mechanics.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Several minutes before midnight each evening, Merlin made his way dutifully to the guest bedroom across the hall from Mordred. He wouldn't have put it past Uther to patrol the halls at night, so he put all thought of sneaking into Arthur's room, or allowing Arthur to sneak into his, out of his mind.

Arthur insisted that half the fun of fooling around on the sly was the sneaking part, but Merlin was hesitant.

"This has _got_ to stop," Arthur muttered on the threshhold of his own bedroom door, Wednesday night. Merlin wasn't certain whether he was referring to Uther's attitude or the nightly absence of his bed partner, but short of resorting to sex on the roof or in the pantry, there seemed to be little they could do.

"I refuse to take my trousers off in your stepmother's pantry," Merlin said adamantly when Arthur made what he hoped was a joking reference to it. "Or anything else. Pendragon Senior would come prowling in, looking for biscuits or cereal, at precisely the wrong moment." Images of Uther reeling backward with surprise and shock, bits of cereal flying about the room, milk spilling, himself and Arthur locked in some sort of messy, half-arsed, partially-clothed embrace in the midst of kitchen supplies and boxes of Weetabix, filled his head.

Arthur shook his head, scowled, and told Merlin that he was an idiot.

On Thursday, the day before Morgana was due to arrive in London ("Where the devil are they staying? Which hotel?" Arthur asked Merlin under his breath. "Probably someplace on the other side of town," was Merlin's reply), Arthur declared himself ready to brave the National Gallery, and he, Merlin, and Uther (who had a business appointment in the neighborhood) took a car to Trafalgar Square. It was grey and there was a light rain - hardly unusual weather for London - but the Square was crowded with what seemed to be busloads of tourists, museum-goers with maps and handbooks, lines of children and young people waiting to climb the lion statues, and the usual hardy pigeons.

"Bloody nuisance," murmured Uther distractedly, looking at his wristwatch. "Won't be home for hours, I should imagine. Tedious board meeting. If you're home before I am, tell Elaine I may be late. Where are you off to, after the National Gallery?"

"I thought we might nip into the V and A," Arthur replied cheerfully, checking his own watch and fishing his Ray-Bans out of his pocket. ("Why are you bringing those? It's cloudy outside," Merlin had groaned. "I like having them with me," was Arthur's nonchalant reply.) "There are some things I've been meaning to look at."

Merlin opened his mouth to say that they had been to the Victoria and Albert only yesterday, but Arthur gave him a fierce death glare, so he shut it again.

Uther strode off in the direction of his appointment, and as soon as he was out of sight, Arthur hailed a taxi.

"Right," he said decisively, giving the driver the address of the Kensington house. "Traffic's not too horrible today, thank the gods."

"Arthur," said Merlin carefully, staring at his Assistant Director. "Are we going back to the _house_?"

"We are," Arthur answered abruptly and then was silent until the taxi stopped at the front door. He paid the driver, pulled his keys out of his pocket, and let them both into the dim and silent front hall.

"Where's Mordred?" Merlin asked, casting an anxious glance around the empty and echoing space.

"Elaine's taken him shopping," Arthur said, gripping Merlin by the elbow and heading for the stairs. "Then they're going to a friend's for tea." He led the way to his bedroom, and pushed the door open.

They were barely across the threshhold when Arthur spun Merlin around and engulfed him.

"Erm, Arthur, _oh_!" said Merlin when Arthur finally let him speak. "What if U-"

"He said he wouldn't be back for _hours_ ," Arthur replied hoarsely several minutes later, fumbling with his belt and then yanking Merlin's shirt over his head. "And _hours_ are exactly what we need." He pushed Merlin onto the bed and kissed him, sighing with sheer pleasure as his body relearnt the contours and angles of his conservator's thin frame, fighting just a little against the urgency that was building in him, forcing his hands to be gentle. Merlin's own hands were moving over the smooth skin of Arthur's back, feeling the muscles quivering with tension. His nimble, well-trained fingers made short work of the button and zip of Arthur's trousers, which he eased below his hips, and then, with a presence of mind that surprised him, he disengaged himself from Arthur's grasp, reaching beyond the bed to switch on Mordred's Father Detector. Arthur snarled and pulled him back.

"Ow!" said Merlin indignantly. Arthur had gone at his ear with his pointy teeth.

"Sorry," mumbled Arthur, going after the other one.

Merlin began to protest, but Arthur released his ear and captured his mouth instead, teeth and tongue colliding with Merlin's almost painfully. Merlin's arms went around his neck and he arched his back, pressing himself tightly against flushed, tanned skin, a broad, muscular chest, and its dusting of hair slightly darker than the gold on Arthur's head. Then he tilted his own head enough to allow their lips to fit together more closely, whilst the fingers of one hand caressed the side of Arthur's face, traced the outline of his jaw, trailed down his throat. They closed their eyes as they kissed, tasting, teasing slowly, taking their time, diving deep and then nibbling lightly. When they finally came up for air, Arthur tore off what remained of his own clothing and Merlin managed to divest himself of the jeans that were down around his ankles.

They floundered about amongst the mountain of cushions Elaine had seen fit to ornament Arthur's bed with.

"Arthur, wait," said Merlin in what he hoped was a firm voice, wriggling and trying to get one of the embroidered bolsters out from under his back.

"Shhhh! Can't wait," was the reply as Arthur climbed on top.

Pillows, cushions, and bolsters were tossed onto the floor to provide more space to maneuver in.

"Well," whispered Merlin, his palms coming to rest against Arthur's shoulder blades. "Shall we talk about particle physics, then?"

"Shut _up_!" snapped Arthur, as usual, and repossessed himself of Merlin's mouth.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"I'd try for a fourth go," Arthur said drowsily. "But I don't think I can...I'm exhausted. I must be getting old."

Merlin snorted with derision. The window was open and the damp, grey air was surprisingly chilly, so he was curled under the duvet, eyes half-closed and dreamy, one hand idly stroking Arthur's chest.

Arthur was lying on his back, staring at the ceiling without really seeing it. His hair was all tousled and feathery over his brow, and his lips were deep pink and swollen. After a while he sighed, reached out, and hauled Merlin against his side, pulling the bedclothes protectively about his shoulders. He felt Merlin give a little shiver and tightened his hold on him, turning on his side to nuzzle the sharp cheekbones and watch the black lashes flicker over those dark blue eyes.

Merlin nuzzled back, pressing his face against Arthur's neck. He could breathe deeply, now that that beautiful, solid, and chiseled body was no longer pressing him down into the mattress. He felt limp, boneless and weightless, still dizzy with pleasure.

"We put that off for too long," Arthur mumbled, resting his fingers against the shallow curve of Merlin's narrow waist. "Because you were afraid of getting caught."

"And now you're going to say I'm an idiot," Merlin smiled.

"Yes, but you're _my_ idiot," Arthur replied, his voice replete with satisfaction. "God, are you hungry? I could eat an ox."

"I don't eat ox," Merlin said, grimacing, and Arthur laughed quietly against his forehead.

"I can't believe you thought I really wanted to go back to the V and A," he whispered. "You never give me credit for planning ahead."

"I didn't know that the only plan you had was for getting me naked," Merlin protested. "I can't read minds; how was I supposed to know...what was that?"

"What was what?" Arthur responded, his eyes closed. He yawned mightily, shoving the bedclothes off of himself, and stretched, all pale bronze, pink, and gold, and then settled down, his fingers beating the rhythm of some obscure ballad against Merlin's ribs.

"Erm...Arthur..." Merlin sat up halfway, alerted by a faint, high beeping sound. He turned his head, eyes widening.

It was Mordred's Father Detector. He felt Arthur tense as their eyes fastened on the tiny screen, and the view of the front door from inside the front hall.

They were in time to see the door close. The picture on the screen was slightly out of focus, but clear enough to show them that Uther had come home.


	20. Sex, Lies, and What to Do About Uther

Uther Pendragon was examining the small pile of mail, delivered earlier, that now rested in the Chinese celadon bowl on the hall table. His upright figure was clearly visible on the little screen of the Father Detector sitting on Arthur's bedside table. The gadget was still emitting a high, shrill beeping sound, and Merlin searched frantically for a way to turn it off.

"I think Mordred forgot to add an 'off' switch," he murmured to Arthur, who had flung a tee shirt over his head and was now pulling on a pair of boxer shorts.

As Merlin stumbled into his jeans and hunted in the bedclothes for his shirt, the beeping stopped. Uther had disappeared from the screen, and he prayed that the senior Pendragon had gone off to his study, or to pour a drink, or inspect his emails, or have a quick pee...anywhere but upstairs.

"This is ri _dic_ ulous," Arthur was muttering. "I'm hardly a minor. I'm a functioning adult, or at least I was until I met you. What I do, and with whom, in private, is none of his bloody business. It's not as if he didn't know about us. I'm inclined to drag you downstairs and snog you right in front of-"

"No, not-" Merlin's voice unintentionally rose about an octave to a high-pitched squeak that startled both of them. "Not _now_. Think of your stepmother and _Mordred_."

Arthur shrugged histrionically. "Okay, perhaps now is not the time. But someday..." He finished dressing, and opened the second window, to air out the room. Merlin, now fully clothed except for his shoes, was standing with his ear to the door, listening for footsteps, and Arthur gave him a questioning look.

"As _now_ is probably not the best time for him to find out we've been shagging each other blind for the past two hours or so," Merlin said, "I think I should disappear until dinner."

Arthur chewed on his lower lip. He had been hoping to spend at least another hour entangled with Merlin in the comfortable warmth of his bed, but now... He sighed, straightened his shirt, and then reached out to smooth Merlin's short and spiky fringe before brushing down the peaks of black hair that were standing up on the back of his head. "Why not go to your room; I'll tell him-"

They both stood stock still as the sound of a heavy tread on the stairs alerted them to Uther's approach and Arthur mouthed a silent but infuriated "No!"

"Surely he's not going to come barging into your bedroom," Merlin began, but as the footsteps drew nearer it appeared that this was a distinct possibility.

It took seconds for Merlin to gather up all of the cushions and bolsters littering the floor and toss them onto the bed, over which Arthur had hastily thrown the coverlet. Arthur glanced at the closet as a possible hiding place, and then the footsteps ceased just outside the door. A moment later Uther's imperious knock resounded loudly through the room. There was no time to think about what to do, and Merlin simply dropped to the floor and rolled under the bed. Arthur kicked Merlin's shoes out of sight as well (he heard a stifled grunt from Merlin), and then flung himself on top of the heap of cushions, trying to look for all the world as if he had just been awakened from a nap by his father's sudden intrusion.

"It's not locked," he said in a muffled voice, making an effort to sound sleepy, and silently cursing himself and Merlin for a pair of cowards. After all, Uther was perfectly aware that the two of them were living together in the New York flat! So why the need for this skulking about? Why did they have to behave like underage teens in his father's house?

The answer, of course, was that neither of them wanted to put Uther in a foul mood, which would doubtless upset Elaine, confuse Mordred, and ruin the remainder of their stay in London. Arthur was mulling this over as Uther pushed the door open and stepped into the room, eyebrows raised at the sight of his disheveled and slightly bleary-eyed son.

"Didn't you go to the Victoria and Albert?" he asked, eyes skimming the room for signs of...well, obviously, for signs of Merlin. "Sorry to wake you, are you feeling unwell?"

"No," replied Arthur, sitting up. "I - the National Gallery was crowded. We did spend some time in the V and A." This wasn't exactly a lie; they had spent time there yesterday. "And then I felt exhausted. It might be delayed jet lag. I really needed a few minutes of sleep."

"Where's Merlin?" Uther said, his eyes still darting about as though he suspected Merlin of having powers of invisibility.

"He said something about wanting to see some of his mates from Cambridge," Arthur said evasively. This was the honest truth; Merlin had said exactly that, only he had said it that morning and had not yet bothered to ring any of them up.

Uther sat down in the armchair facing the bed. "I ran into Aredian, after my board meeting," he announced, crossing his arms. "He wanted to talk about that wooden sculpture, you know, the unknown nobleman or saint, the one with the damaged surface and bubbling paint. He was complimentary about the work of your conservators, but thought he might be able to contribute to its repair."

There was a pause and then Arthur said "What?" in a tone of voice the Institute staff had come to know and dread.

"He said something about a new technique that works beautifully on bubbling and cracking pigment," Uther murmured vaguely. "Interesting, don't you think?"

"Should we discuss this downstairs, Father?" Arthur asked, thinking of Merlin under the bed. "I'll just put on my-" He looked about for his shoes, wondering where he had discarded them during the process of stripping Merlin and himself.

"No, no, I'll leave you to rest," Uther said in a jovial voice. "I just thought I'd tell you about Aredian before I forget. The senior moments are coming thick and fast now; I can never seem to remember anything unless I write it down."

Arthur didn't believe that the senior Pendragon had ever forgotten anything in his life. "Father," he snapped, a horrible thought suddenly coming to him, "you're not thinking of hiring _Aredian_ to work for the Institute!"

"Goodness, Arthur," Uther replied, eyebrows raised. "Why the hostility? The man's a master."

"I have four conservators," said Arthur shortly. "I don't need another."

"I never said you did," countered Uther, his voice soothing. "And, really, you only have one full-time objects conservator. Gwen does textiles, does she not? Gaius is a paper specialist, like Merlin, and Merlin still has junior status. But there's no need to be concerned; I've no intention of hiring Aredian. I _have_ known him for years, and although he's one of the best, he's a bit of a prima donna. I can just see him and Gaius going head to head over every little issue. No, I simply may ask him to do some work on that sculpture - just for a brief period, mind, and purely on a freelance basis."

"Why?" asked Arthur coldly. "Will's an excellent objects conservator. His work on Lord Mo...on that sculpture is perfectly satisfactory. He's had some help from Merlin as well, and Merlin _is_ qualified to work on three-dimensional objects as well as paper. There is absolutely no need for a third party."

"Arthur, it would only be temporary," Uther said, looking narrowly at his son. "I don't want an additional conservator for the Institute, but I wouldn't mind letting the man apply this new technique to that problematic sculpture. All you need do, if we decide to proceed, is to tell your Conservation Department to give Aredian free rein for a bit. Unless you think such an order might meet with, shall we say, resistance from _someone_ on your staff."

"Merlin is my conservator," Arthur said, his tone of voice very calm. "He will do as I tell him, in that regard."

Even as the words left his lips he could imagine Merlin rolling his eyes, under the bed.

"Good," Uther murmured, looking satisfied. "Now I'll just let you get another half hour or so of rest."

"Thank you." If Arthur's jaw was clenched, his father pretended not to notice.

"Elaine only just rang me," Uther added, getting to his feet. "It seems that Mordred and the son of her friend are involved in some sort of game with his Wii, and it's proving difficult to tear him away. When Merlin materializes, would you tell him that dinner will be a little late?"

The door closed behind him with a sharp click and Arthur stood up, put his head in his hands, and groaned with exasperation.

"Well," said Merlin cheerfully, his head popping out from beneath the foot of the bed. "If Uther hires that dollop-head to work for the Institute, do the rest of us conservators get extra vacation time?"

"Absolutely not," replied Arthur curtly. "In fact, I'm working on a new employment contract that says Merlin Emrys in entitled to zero vacation days. But don't worry, Aredian is _not_ coming to work with us if I can help it."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Dinner _was_ late, as Mordred had proved difficult to coax into returning home with his mother. He was smiling a little evilly over the number of times he had beaten his friend at their computer game, and chatted to Merlin with enthusiasm throughout the meal. This was so uncharacteristic of him - Arthur had known a withdrawn and cool-eyed Mordred to sit through an entire dinner without saying a word - that even Uther seemed somewhat astonished. Merlin spoke gently with the boy, trying to draw him out on a variety of subjects that interested him, and Arthur was pleased to see that his stepmother was regarding him with warm approval.

"I want to go to New York with Arthur and Merlin," Mordred said in a flat little voice after his second helping of pudding.

Uther quickly changed the subject, launching into a monologue on the subject of art collectors and museums, specifically on how museums wooed collectors in the hope of inheriting their art, or perhaps some of their wealth, someday. None of this was news to Arthur, who had wined and dined enough collectors to know how to encourage them with hints of galleries named after them, with the suggestion that their names would be forever linked to a prestigious institution.

"These aren't lies, naturally," Uther continued. "But neither are they promises. I think they fall under the category of _enticements_."

"A few museum directors, or their associates, are really unscrupulous," Arthur added under his breath so that Mordred could not hear. "They'll do almost anything, short of offering sex, to get a collector to donate his or her art."

" _You_ haven't offered sex, have you?" Merlin whispered jokingly.

"God forbid," Arthur whispered back, pretending to be shocked.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

They had coffee in the parlour, and whilst Uther and his wife discussed Morgana's visit, and what they would have for dinner when she came to the house on Saturday, Arthur wondered whether they were aware of Leon's presence in his stepsister's life. Merlin strolled the length of the room, admiring the Renoir, the Picasso, the Chinese bird-and-flower painting, and the Indian miniatures hanging on the walls, presumably brought from the family home near Belgrave Square.

"Did you ever see that movie from the nineteen eighties, 'Sex, Lies, and Videotape,'?" Arthur whispered as Merlin went past him.

"D'you mean the one about the bloke who makes videos of women talking about sex?" Merlin whispered back. "And then has a good wank when he watches them later?"

"Something like that," Arthur muttered. Then he pulled a wry face. "We could make a movie and call it 'Sex, Lies, and Museum Curators.' What do you think?"

"Nobody would go to see it," Merlin replied after a moment of thought. "Who wants to see movies about stuffy museum types? People want a screenful of nudity and violence. How many curators and directors and conservators do you know who would look good with their clothes off? Apart from ours, that is."

"As for violence, I know plenty of curators from rival museums who would love to bash their competitors' heads in," Arthur replied drily. "And our lovely and aggressive friend Nimueh, from Boston, would probably be happy to take her clothes off if _you_ were in the movie as well."

"Don't be such an ass," Merlin muttered under his breath, blushing a little. Memories of the Boston conservator's attempts to seduce him were still a source of embarrassment.

"Do you remember what time Morgana's flight arrives tomorrow?" Uther called from the other end of the room. "She sent me the information, but I appear to have erased the email by mistake."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Merlin went upstairs to bed several minutes earlier than Arthur, but he lingered in the hall in order to give his Assistant Director a whispered Good Night. Arthur stopped and put his hand on Merlin's shoulder, and Merlin put _his_ hand on Arthur's wrist, delicately rubbing circles there with his thumb. They could hear Uther and Elaine at the foot of the stairs, so Arthur made a face, squeezed Merlin's shoulder a little and then continued down the hall to his own room.

Once ensconced in his bed, pillows propped up behind him and Elaine's hoard of cushions shoved to one side, Arthur thought about what his father had said, earlier. About the prospect of Aredian doing some sort of work for the Institute. About Morgana's pending arrival. But mostly he thought about Merlin. He thought about their afternoon tryst, only hours ago, and how bloody blissful it had been to relax with Merlin in his bed, afterward, and how the drowsy aftermath never diminished their pleasure but only seemed to perpetuate it. Even if you put aside the sex ( _not_ that Arthur was likely to put _that_ aside), the mere sensation of lying under the duvet with Merlin pressed to his side was singularly...was unique. Then he thought about the light touch of Merlin's fingertips on his collarbone, or stroking his upper arm, or pushing the hair back from his forehead...and that faint, breathy little moan he sometimes gave when Arthur pulled him face to face, skin against skin.

He shifted a little, because these thoughts were beginning to put him into a condition that was not conducive to sleep.

It was another forty-five minutes (during which Arthur became desperate enough to try counting sheep, reciting the multiplication tables, and conjuring up images of his ugliest Maths teacher from long-ago school days) before he was able to drift off into a light and restless sleep. In his dreams, Aredian was threatening to burn the entire staff of the Pendragon Institute at the stake, and Arthur felt himself powerless to stop him.

* * *

**For the record, in many cases the term "paper conservator" refers to conservation specialists able to work with not only traditional paper (of various types) but also paper-like materials, such as parchment, vellum, prepared silk, or even papyrus.**

* * *


	21. Witchcraft

"I like to think that the staff are joking when they call me a witch," Morgana said. "I like to think that it's a term of endearment, coming from them."

"If you were Glenda the Good Witch, maybe," Arthur replied, staring at the ceiling with an expression of innocence. "But I believe they simply call you a...witch."

It was Saturday morning, and he and Merlin were slouched on the massive sofa, upholstered in a highly slippery, satin-like fabric, in the sitting room of Morgana's one-bedroom suite. It was an elegantly furnished and well-lit space in a hotel that was, as Merlin had predicted, a good distance from Uther's temporary residence. She and Leon had arrived the evening before, and were scheduled to head back to New York on Monday.

"Just a long weekend," sighed Morgana, shrugging. "But we can ring up some old friends and I can do a bit of shopping. I'll have a few hours to stop in at the museums tomorrow, and Leon can spend time with his parents. We had a late dinner with them yesterday, after our flight arrived."

"I can see _you're_ simply dying to spend some time in the bosom of your family," Arthur said sarcastically.

"Oh yeah, she talks about them all the time," Leon interjected, grinning. He had settled into an armchair where he fell asleep every ten minutes, to the amusement of everyone else.

"Boys, boys, you have no idea," Morgana said loftily, one hand twisting her heavy mass of raven hair. "You haven't a clue about how I _truly_ feel about my family. Did you have a splendid time in Ealdor, Merlin? And how did Arthur behave? Did he cow the local populace and look down his nose at the accommodations?"

"No, he was actually very polite," Merlin replied, cutting off Arthur, who was making noises of outrage. He reached for a biscuit on the coffee table and slid off the sofa as a result. "He was lovely to my mum. She was delighted with him. For the rest of the time, he strode arrogantly amongst the locals, wreaking havoc in the hearts of the female population."

"It's not arrogance," Arthur insisted. "Ignore him, he's an idiot."

Merlin, on the floor, gave a tolerant little smile and rolled his eyes.

"No, he's right," Morgana said firmly.

"It's _not_ arrogance," Arthur said again, emphatically. "It's...it's self confidence."

"Ha!" Morgana snorted, giving her stepbrother a glance of gentle scorn. "Now. Should I bring wine or flowers to Uther's this evening. And what's it like, the new place? Do you think they might keep it after our old house has been renovated?"

"I don't care what you bring, and they won't either," Arthur retorted. "And no, Father's planning to sell it as soon as the Belgravia house is ready to be lived in again. I understand you're dragging poor Leon to dinner tonight, you evil creature?"

All three shot a quick look in Leon's direction, but he had nodded off for perhaps the fifth time that morning.

"I know it sounds daring," Morgana said serenely. "But I want to bring Leon, and I don't care if it's risky. Uther won't dare sack him, should he figure things out, and even if he does, Leon has that professorship lined up. He won't be out in the cold, seeking employment."

"Leon's got courage," mumbled Arthur. "I'd hate to lose him, he's a great Head of Security, but I can understand that a professorship might be nicer for someone with his training, not to mention more prestigious. And to Father's way of thinking, more acceptable."

"Training?" said Morgana. "You make him sound like a racehorse, or a boxer. Uther is such a snob. I know you're rather fond of him, but you agree with me just the same. Incidentally, for the record, we're telling him that Leon's in the City to visit his parents, and I ran into him, oh, somewhere, and invited him to dinner."

"Well, this _is_ a tangle," Arthur murmured, raising a corner of his upper lip in the sardonic smile he had perfected years ago. "You're supposedly here on your own, but you bring Leon to dinner. He _just happens_ to be in London visiting his parents, and wouldn't you know it, he runs into _you._ Merlin and I share a flat in New York, and everybody knows it, but of course we can't even share _a room_ in Father's house. Now Mordred's been yammering on about coming to New York with us, and he thinks we talk about particle physics in...in...when we're alone together."

"What?" asked Morgana, totally confused. "Particle physics? Oh, does Mordred really want to come to New York? Bless the boy. Uther must have had kittens when he said that. I suppose he could live with me for a while, if Le...if Mum doesn't object."

"And to top everything off," Arthur continued, making such a horrible face that Morgana couldn't repress her laughter, "Father's talking about asking _Aredian_ to do a little freelance work on Lord Moldywart."

"Aredian?" Morgana said, wrinkling her brow. "Oh no. That man is such a toad. I vote against it, whatever Uther says. Oh, Arthur! Aren't you meant to be visiting Cornelius Sigan, to look at that tapestry?"

"It's one miserable thing after another," Arthur growled. "Yes, on Monday. Shall I slit my wrists now, or just wait until afterward."

"Oh, will you shut up!" snapped Morgana. "I don't want to hear you say any such thing, ever again. You're a big boy, Arthur, you can cope with a little worm like Sigan if you have to."

"First toads and now worms," Merlin commented from the floor. "What's next? Ostriches?"

"Sigan actually looks a bit like one," Arthur said testily. "Will you _get up off the carpet_ , Merlin, before someone steps on you? Morgana, I can assure you now that Aredian _will not_ be coming to work for the Institute. And yes, I can handle Sigan; I'd simply rather not have to. Now, what is it we're all meant to be doing this afternoon? Would somebody please wake up Leon?"

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

As it happened, Morgana devoted the hours between lunch and tea to spending a great deal of what Arthur said was her monthly salary. Brandishing handwritten lists, cash, and credit cards, she shop-hopped vigorously, at one point roping Leon, Arthur, and Merlin into accompanying her to a department store to find small gifts for friends and an evening garment for herself.

As Morgana to waited on a long line to pay for the items she had selected, Arthur overcame his dislike of shopping long enough to drag Merlin into the men's clothing department, where he purchased a fairly tame Vivienne Westwood jacket for his junior conservator.

"Arthur," said Merlin, sneaking a look at himself in the mirror. "I've told you not to buy me things...it isn't right."

"Why not?" Arthur responded, pulling out his Platinum American Express card. "It looks gr...I mean, it suits you."

" _Because_ ," Merlin mumbled, fidgeting with embarrassment as he gazed into the mirror at his suddenly svelt and fashionable self, "I can't buy you anything comparable in return, and it makes me feel like I'm your...your mistress...or a _courtesan_ , or whatever the male equivalent is."

Arthur's head went back in that characteristic gesture as he burst out laughing. Ignoring Merlin's scowl, he tugged the jacket off his shoulders, marched to the checkout counter, and paid for it.

"Look on the bright side, Merlin," he said, still grinning as they emerged from the store. "At least I'm not buying you _jewelry_."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

It took a while to locate Morgana, who had vanished behind the massive glass doors of yet another expensive-looking shop.

Leon shrugged his shoulders good-naturedly, but Arthur was clearly annoyed. His annoyance grew when Morgana finally reappeared, bearing a huge shopping bag containing a rectangular box.

"Your broomstick, no doubt," he said snidely. "A folding one."

"It's pastries, for this evening," replied Morgana, sharply. "And now I'll make certain you don't get any. Honestly Arthur, did you think I'd gotten lost?"

"The thought had occured to me," Arthur said. "Lost somewhere between Armani and Vera Wang. Searching for you amongst the designer clothing racks would be like hunting down a rabid animal. What a relief we've found you."

"A relief," said Morgana, her lips beginning to tighten. It was plain that jet lag had not improved her temper. "A _rabid animal_? You didn't _find_ me. In fact, you didn't even look. I found _you_. What do you mean, a relief?"

"Oh no," Leon said under his breath, nudging Merlin in the ribs.

"Well," Arthur went on blithely. "It was like the relief you feel when you've lost your wallet, and then you find it."

"Your _wallet_ ," Morgana said steadily, breathing hard through her nose.

"Yes," Arthur continued, heedless of his impending doom. "A leathery and old one."

Merlin effectively got between the stepsiblings before Morgana could hit Arthur over the head with her heavy (leather) bag.

"Shall we go back to your hotel, Morgana?" he asked with the most charming smile he could muster, warily eyeing the bag she still held poised in mid air. "You can tell us all about Gwen's bridal shower."

"Nice work, Merlin," Leon murmured as the four of them set off to find a taxi. "That's the sort of thing my staff and I have to do all the time. You'd be amazed at how many men think museums are the ideal place to tell their wives or girlfriends they've met someone else. The poor saps think the public surroundings will prevent the ladies from flying into a rage and slapping them in the face. How wrong they are."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

By the time they were sitting once again in the hotel suite, Morgana's sense of humor had reasserted itself, and she was actually sniggering over having been compared to an old wallet.

The plan was that Arthur and Merlin would return to the Kensington house after tea, and Morgana would arrive with Leon just before dinner. But just now, Leon was back in his armchair, looking drowsy again, and Arthur and his stepsister perched on the sofa, with Merlin between them, "To keep the peace," as Arthur said smugly.

Arthur's arm was across the back of the sofa, which meant that it was more or less across Merlin's shoulders. He gestured as he spoke, and every now and then, his hand accidentally brushed the back of Merlin's neck. Merlin could see that Morgana was watching them out of the corner of her eye, but this was hardly new. Arthur had once joked to him that Morgana was dying to catch them in the act...some sort of act, any kind of act...and although Merlin felt that this was an exaggeration, he too was aware of Morgana's intense curiosity about their private life.

"I brought gifts for everybody in the family, from New York," Morgana was saying brightly. "For Mum, Uther, and Mordred. I also remembered to bring all sorts of choc bars. Does he _really_ want to move to New York? To _live_?"

"Erm, that's what he says," Merlin replied, privately thinking that Uther would undergo spontaneous combustion at the very thought of his younger son growing up in an American city.

"Perhaps he _should_ spend some time living in New York," Morgana suggested, wrinkling her brow. "Even go to school there. You know, with _real_ children, his own age..."

Most of Mordred's classmates in his school for gifted children were older then he was by several years.

"No!" shouted Arthur, aghast at the thought of Mordred living in his flat, with himself and Merlin. Joining them at dinner, invading their sitting room with his Wii, and demanding to know what was going on at the Institute. Rearranging all of the books on their bookshelves according to size and color. Filling his kitchen cabinets with lollies and choc bars. Barging into their bedroom to discover whether or not they discussed physics and quantum theory between the sheets.

"He needn't live with _you_ , Arthur," Morgana said patiently. "He could live with me, if Mum doesn't mind too much. After all, I'm, well, more or less living alone, except for the weekends..." She cast an ambiguous glance at Leon, who was asleep again. "It might do him some good. He's never been able to live like a normal child, he's never spent a great deal of time with ordinary children. And Mum could come and visit quite often, I suppose."

"I don't think Elaine would stand for it," Arthur said, frowning. "Her youngest child moving away?"

"He'll be twelve in a year or so," Morgana sighed. "So many little boys go off to school as full boarders by his age, if not earlier, and only come home for the holidays."

"I don't know," muttered Arthur, still frowning, his fingers toying absently with the ends of Merlin's hair, lightly skimming over his nape. Then he realized what he was doing, and stopped. "What would Leon think?"

"Oh, Leon likes children," Morgana said casually, flicking a glance in his direction. "He's good with them."

"Father won't like it," Arthur said abruptly. "He probably has high hopes for Mordred. His first-born son has disappointed him, opting to spend more than half of his time in the States, avoiding matrimony with any of the daughters of daddy's aristo mates, and...and sharing his living space with some fledgeling conservator who hasn't a bean to his name."

It was Merlin's turn to make outraged noises, and Arthur swatted the back of his head.

"I do so have a bean to my name," stated Merlin reproachfully. "I have a savings account. And a checking account. And enough spending money to pay for my Starbucks ventis, thank you very much."

"So I don't know how you could possibly convince him," Arthur went on, ignoring this minor outburst but secretly admiring the way his conservator's blue eyes had gone darker, the pink flush that had spread across those cheekbones. "Unless you want to use witchcraft, Morgana. God, look at the time! We'd better leave, Merlin, if we want to get home before these lovebirds arrive. Morgana, wake up Leon, and tell him we'll see him at seven. Merlin! For pity's sake, don't forget that jacket!"

* * *

**Sorry, I couldn't resist paraphrasing some lines from Bradley James' amusing interview for** _**Digital Spy** _ **, comparing Prince Arthur's relief at finding Morgana to the relief one would feel upon finding a lost wallet (leathery and old).**

* * *


End file.
